Cajun Cinnamon
by The Mad Techie
Summary: A loss and a mysterious new recruit. Gambit returns to the X-Men - and he brings backup! Logan finds himself teaching again. What changes will the newcomer bring? ["Ties That Bind" is a prequal to this.]
1. Shadows Path

**_CAJUN CINNAMON_**  
**Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle  
**  
Chapter I  
**"****_Shadows Path"  
_**  
Scott Summers, the mutant known as Cyclops, had been careful to settle on a branch out of Logan's scent range - at least he hoped - at the place he knew the other mutant practiced.  
The man who had saved his life as a child, yet revealed nothing of himself. As he settled on the branch, ruby-visored gaze on the small glade, he thought back on the past week.  
Wolverine had raised him three years among _ninja_. And he still didn't know why. And his other sibling. Not brother, could he have a sister somewhere? Where was she? Or he? Why was Logan being so secretive, when they had just found a bond of brotherhood at last? It bounced around in his head like stubborn frisbees, angling in all directions, colliding and falling.  
Logan was there, but had silently seated himself, falling into a mediative state.  
Scott watched his eyes, his face, everything about the stubbornly private older mutant.  
"Mint's gone." The voice was quiet in the darkened glen, still and emotionless.  
Scott was suddenly frantic. The little girl had beaten the menengitis, she couldn't possibly be gone...  
Wolverine didn't move, but a tremor went up his back before he could control it. "No, I mean _gone_." His voice was quiet. "Somethin's happening, Scott."  
The younger mutant jerked a bit. Logan never called him Scott. One-Eye, Kid, any number of nicknames, but never by his first name. Almost as if he'd held him at arms length, all this time. He understood a little, but now - now he was in for the duration.  
Swinging down, he knelt down next to the shorter man, aware of the quiet tension, the raging fury he held tightly in check. "Tell me." Scott said, gently, phrasing it as a request.  
"Everyone is losin' their memory of her. Even Chuck don't recall what she looks like. What color were her eyes, Scott?" a sudden question, a newly-recalled memory of the whip-slash mnemonic games the "little innocents", the children of _ninja _trained in to keep their wills strong and their minds active. A game that now came into play with a vengeance.  
Scott couldn't remember, but her name made it obvious. He said as much.  
"Can you remember her voice, Scott? The way she used to spit up milk laughin' at jokes in mid-swallow? Do you remember how she felt left out when we practiced in the Danger Room? Do you remember the night she cried herself to sleep when the other kids said she didn't have a Mom and Jean and 'Roro both jumped in?" His eyes, blue as the soul of the sky, now burned with gold flecks, his expression taut and feral. "D'you remember her belivin' in us?"  
Scott swallowed hard against the tears. "She can't be gone far..." he whispered.  
Wolverine turned back to stare into the glen, and he said nothing. "She's gone, Scott." he repeated, voice cold and very controlled. "Ya know we shared a special - bond. It's gone. Mint's gone. Somethin' just - took her away." He didn't move. Some pain was too deep for the release of tears. It was that type of pain that could drive a man mad. How much more could Logan bear? Everyone he loved was gone. His wife - in every way but simple public recognition - was a loss still bearing heavy on his soul. His lovers were dead.. Now, his daughter, barely a baby, who had given him the unquestioning love Scott had secretly felt a secret twinge of jealousy for, was gone.  
So Scott leaned forward, and despite the growled objections, pulled the grieving _samurai _into his arms and held him.  
And cried for himself, and for Logan.  
For the tears a father couldn't cry.

_ Three months later  
_  
With silent grace, the slender figure bounded from rooftop to rooftop, spinning on gloved hands. Landing on a tip-toe crouch, it came to a halt and listened, head tilted, smelling the air of the muggy New Orleans night.  
A bit later, a taller figure joined the first.  
"You sure dis de place_, mon petit?"_  
_ "Oui_. When is de last time you know me t'be wrong, eh?" Laughter was in that voice, mischief, laughter, and sheer passion.  
"Las' time when you get me eat your jambalya taco, dat was frightful."  
"Where your sense of adventure?" The face was of a girl, perhaps sixteen or so, with eyes of velvet darkness, with only pure crystal blue irises sparkling in the dim light. "Dat was Caaaaaaajun!" She mimicked the commercialized version of the Acadian tongue with a vengeance.  
"Dat nearly caught Gambit's tongue on fire." grumbled the tall man, his own eyes dark orbs marked with ruby-red irises.  
"Dis from a man who drink t'basc' sauce as a snack!"  
Gambit rolled his eyes, but grinned down at the girl. "But you right in dis case - Gambit see dem movin'. You right, and you get full claim, dat de rule."  
"Th'ree days of Mardi Gras wit' you!" the grin was impish.  
Gambit pretended to sulk, but bent and pressed a gentle kiss on the girl's forehead. "Could never refuse you nothin', _peu d'amour_." he said, fondly.  
The girl laughed, a sound of open glee and life. "_Aimez-vous aussi, Papa!" _she replied.

_ Uncle Scott....Uncle Scott_.... the silent voice echoed softly within Scott's waking mind.  
His eyes flickered open, but he saw only the translucent outline of a child, flickering palely in the moonlight.  
_ Mint_! he tried to shout, but only an equally silent reply came out_. Where are you....?_  
_ Uncle Scott, please listen, I won't be here much longer...._  
_ Mint...._  
_ Please listen! Uncle Scott, I'm not what I thoughted or you thought either - I'm..._  
_ What...?_  
_ I'm going away, Uncle Scott, but it's a good thing...I'm not real like I am here._  
_ You're a person, Mint_. His belief was firm.  
_ Not a whole person, an' as long as I stay I can't be, not ever._  
Scott forced himself to calm_. All right, Mint, try to explain it to me_. he coaxed, urgently.  
_ I needed to be a baby to finish myself, now I have to go or I won't be right._  
Her image began to fade, creating an odd sensation of splintering memory. Outside, an agonized howl - Wolverine! _Logan!_  
_ Please please please help Daddy unnerstand that I was his baby for two years and now the body won't work right. It's not mine total anyhow, and it's not me. I'm only part of who was I'm supposed to be, and I think that it will be gooder when you see me again. Please don't be sad. It is good, 'cause after all, I was the other one._  
_ Other what_? Scott felt tears on his cheeks. _Oh, Sweetheart, other what?_  
On the bed, next to him as she had always been, Jean Grey-Summers stirred, the outline of a Phoenix glimmering around her.  
_ It was small, Uncle Scott_. A simple truth, stated in a child's simple honesty_. I am part of a big one. I will be big some day, but I have to go. I was, but I'm not now. Now I am._  
_ Mint!_  
But the fragile outline was gone.  
Outside, against the shadowed moon, Wolverine uttered a horrible cry of rage and loss.  
Scott held his wife, his mind turning over what he had seen and heard, his heart with his brother and the woman he loved.

Of all things in the United States, Mardi Gras was unique. Part celebration, part drinking binge, part parade, and part riot, it was as wild as any legal system would allow, even one as convoluted and unusual as New Orleans.  
Through it, the Cajuns moved easily, but the Thieves' Guild moved with the assurance of mastery.  
Gambit was a Master within that organization, and he had arranged a comfortable payment for the girl at his side.  
It was the least he could do for his daughter.  
Munching happily on a well-spiced shrimp, she cocked her head up at him, watching him with curiosity.  
It was then it happened.  
An agonizing lash of pain swirled into her head, down into her, around her, through her, burning deep into her being, tearing at the past - at the illusion _- no_! She collapsed to her knees, clutching her head, clinging to her _identity_, screaming silently into the Void.  
"Cayanne!" Her father's arms were around her, holding her, as the world ignored them - part of the beauty of Mardi Gras was it's anonymity. She couldn't speak, but the girl gritted her teeth, determined not to scream.

"Incredible." breathed Hank McCoy. "I have never seen such a reading." The blue-furred mutant was hanging upside-down from a metal ceiling-beam.  
Professor Charles Xavier, the world's most powerful telepath, was rubbing his temples. "It was as if every reading simply vanished a moment as this one _- exploded - _into range.  
Normally a mutant's "surge" of occurrence appeared on Cerebro, it appeared as a dot. Powerful mutants were larger and brighter. This one had lit the board completely, burning out the lights a moment before switching to backup circuits.  
Wolverine simply stood behind them, showing no expression at all, though Jean and Scott stood behind and near him, providing the unspoken support of family.  
"We must find this young mutant before they are injured or injure another." said Xavier, gently.  
It was odd, to see everyone glance at Wolverine. He ignored them, turning away to focus his senses on something he couldn't quite identify. Something that was changing..._coming....becoming...._no. Just....something.

"We knew this happen, _mon fils." _the older man said gently. "Always we were aware, _non?"_  
"She too young." said Gambit, from where he leaned.  
"She bring the new ones to us, de young ones, dey wake up to dis soon, _non? _What I tell them if Cayanne not go?"  
"Cayanne is Gambit's daughter, not just Thieves' Guild!" snapped the mutant.  
Gently, the older man rested a hand on the mutant's shoulder. "Remy LeBeau, you my son, always, no matter what. Always, Jean-Paul will love you as his own son, and always Cayanne will be his son's daughter. No matter what. Dis I swear to you."  
Gambit turned to hug his father, feeling a sense of - loss. His daughter would soon have to face more than New Orleans, more than the Thieves' Guild. And life outside the family she loved and loved her would be painfully different.

"Cayanne?" the door opened, revealing a shadow with red-flame orbs marking the eyes.  
"_Qu'arrive à moi?" _she whispered, through gritted teeth, anger giving her strength to face the pain.  
Remy sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping a gentle arm around her. "Listen to Remy_, Épice_." he said gently. "What happenin', it scares you?"  
"_Hah!_" A snort of amusement. "Not _scare _me, _Papa!" _Her ebon-backed crystal eyes met his. "Hurt like de _fire, _but _scare _me - make me want t' understand it."  
"Place t' go you can learn, _mon peu de feu_." Remy took a deep breath. "Place wit people wit' people lik' you, wit special gift."  
Cayenne's eyes were interested.  
"Not near home, it far from de Bayou."  
Her head cocked. "Leave home, _Papa?" _her elfin features were distressed.  
"We come back for visits."  
"We?"  
"We - dis de place yer _Papa _go when he leave home for times. You come wit me?" His voice was soft.  
Cayenne's eyes lit up. "_Oui!" _She flung herself into his arms. "I go wit you, _Papa _- I follow you anywhere, even into Hell."  
Remy closed his eyes and held her tight. He promised himself that he would not allow his beloved daughter to ever have to follow the X-Men into such a battle. He would die first.

Translations from the Cajun (French)

_Aimez-vous aussi - _Also like you  
_Épice - _Spice  
_Mon peu de feu - _My little fire


	2. The Language of Lions

**_CAJUN CINNAMON_**  
**Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle  
**  
Chapter II  
**_The Language of Lions  
_**  
****Scott met Logan in the hall outside Cerebros vault. Everyone else was hurrying to assemble in the entrance****hall of the mansion.  
Their eyes met, and just for a moment, the younger mutant saw not merely an older man, but an ancient soul, alone not merely by choice, but by virtue of that age. It was a brief awareness, and Logan had shielded him from it when Scott had been a child. After seeing the ones you love die - not even by violence, but by age or nature - then you grew more and more tentative about loving, caring, dedicating yourself. It made you vulnerable. It left you open to a type of pain that almost no man living could grasp.  
Once again, he had underestimated the man behind Wolverine. Instead of turning away from the team and giving in to the pain, he turned instead to shield another from ever suffering it.  
Scott would never again be able to call Logan Wolverine in his heart. He was far more human than most people could ever aspire to.  
More - _samurai _than _samurai._  
Neither spoke, until Scott said quietly, This ones gonna be tough. Give the man some respect, let him decide what he wants to do. He fell in step beside the other man when Logan started toward the others.  
Yeah. He kept walking.  
As they moved, the difference was obvious - Scott was tall, slender, and moved with an easy stride, unconsciously broadcasting the fact he was the leader of the X-Men.  
Logan was shorter, stocky, prone to blend into the background when he wished. His movements were graceful, but controlled, and he told nothing by movement nor posture.  
Jean glanced over at them both, eyes worried, and was just about to speak, when the front door banged open.  
Ya'll can relax. came a familiar voice, as a tall figure strode in Gambit has returned! Grinning his trademark, rougeish grin, he paused to regard his friends.  
An dis time he bring backup. added another voice. Cayanne grinned with equal mischief, as her gaze swept the group, eyes glittering with humor.

"The child is the mutant Cerebro detected." Xavier was saying, quietly, as the X-Men gathered in his office, puzzled by the sudden change in events.  
"I happen t' have a name, Chromedome!" snapped the girl standing next to Gambit, eyes blazing. "I suggest you 'member it!"  
Xavier was so startled by the youngster's words his mouth actually fell open an inch, while Logan's lips twitched slightly.  
Gambit looked up at the ceiling as though seeking divine intervention. "Gambit suggest you do like she say, kid has a temper, like her old man."  
Everyone froze, staring at the tall Cajun in amazement. Rouge's mouth fell open, eyes widening as she looked from him to his younger companion.  
Cayanne snorted, then turned back to Xavier. "So dis yer school, Chromedome?"  
"My name is Professor Charles Xavier...."  
"Oooo, nice long name."  
"Cayanne, he own dis nice place." Gambit's voice was amused, but trying for a mild reprimand. "Do your _papa _a favor an' give him a chance, eh?"  
"He not polite, I not polite." The girl crossed her arms, glaring at the X-Men and their mentor.  
"He told ya his name."  
"Well, you told him mine." she glowered, still protectively close to her father.  
Gambit's lips twitched, even as he looked with mild apology at Xavier, who still was in a mild state of shock.  
"Cayanne..."  
"For you, I give him 'nother chance." grumbled Cayanne. She eyed the Professor with distrust and drew herself up. "I'm Cayanne LeBeau, daughter of Remy LeBeau." It was oddly precise, and she announced the last with unhidden pride.  
"A pleasure." replied Xavier solemnly, his face showing his nature of serene compassion once more. "And I am Professor Charles Xavier, teacher and owner of this school."  
"Pleasure." nodded Cayanne. "So, someone wanna show me 'round the joint?"

"She is unusual." said Jean Grey, while she sipped tea beside her husband in Xavier's office.  
Scott chuckled, his visored gaze resting briefly on his wife. "Definitely that!" he grinned, then looked a bit sheepish at Xavier's raised eyebrow. "A lot like her dad."  
The fourth member of the teaching staff, a regal, dark-skinned woman with striking silver hair, nodded quietly. Ororo Munroe, known also as Storm, was in charge of the newest students, and obviously Cayanne would be among the new class.  
"Gambit has told me that she has no formal education." said the weather mutant quietly. "But also that she possesses an extraordinarily agile mind."  
"Our newest member will have every opportunity to proceed at her own rate." Xavier's expression was slightly sad. "Perhaps we will yet be able to earn her trust."

"You wan' me to _what?_" Cayanne's voice was still low, but deepened with shock.  
"You try goin' to school, _petit._" Gambit had thought of a thousand ways he could explain this to the girl. He stared into eyes that were so like his own and stood his ground. He had to love her enough to push her into his. "Dey got a fine one here."  
"Dey _kids!_" Such disgust in that voice.  
"So are you, _mon sauvage petit ange._" he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close, despite her squawk of mock indignation. Gambit held her there, and she hugged him back, tightly.  
"_Non. _Cayanne not a kid no more." she said, looking up at him.  
"Well, you try one month and fake it for your _Papa, _okay?"  
The girl puffed breath out, blowing her curled hair out of her eyes. It was a long moment before she answered, and it was in a softer voice than normal. It was a daughter's voice to a father, not a wild child of the New Orleans streets.  
"You really t'ink dis so important?"  
"_Oui."_  
"Den Cayanne try to pretend to be a kid. Dis once. For you."

The first moment Cayanne stepped into the mansion's "Orientation Room", she was a bit startled. Others her own age, some a few years older, were gathered nervously, uncertain of how to react to one another.  
She burst out laughing, aware that most turned to look at her. Grinning ferally, she said, "Here we all are then, wit all de world out to get us, and we gonna be scared of _each other_?"  
Somehow, it didn't come across insulting to most. It wasn't even superior, it was _- funny_.  
Cayanne pulled out some cards, grinned. "My _Papa's_ the master o'cards." Grabbing a boy - she noticed in passing he was horribly, nauseatingly, stomach-twistingly _hideous_ behind a thin gauze bandage - she swung him in front of her, sending the cards up in a swirl over and around him. "Cayanne just know some tricks. You pick a card, pass it on, _oui_?"  
Tentatively, the boy - his hands were bone-thin and gloved - reached into the swirling storm and snatched a card. A six of clubs.  
He held it awkwardly, then passed it over to a smaller boy who looked to be a cross between a human and an owl. The boy held it a moment, it spun over - a four of diamonds - and a new storm of cards danced around him.  
Soon the frightened, lost youngsters were gathered around the reluctant newcomer, somehow able to tell their stories, to be - kids. To be themselves, without fear.  
Cayanne flopped onto the couch, listening avidly, grinning and occasionally unable to resist making a pro-mutant joke, but inside, she was concerned. How would they grow to see the world later, when everyone who _wasn't_ like them were all around them? It was a familiar feeling, and she could feel the slight pinch of her fangs against her closed mouth.  
She was no kid, but now she had a reason to try to be.

"She not real thrilled about this school idea, but she try it." said Gambit, regarding his teammates and the Professor from where he leaned against the wall.  
"Do you know what areas of aptitude she would prefer to pursue?" asked Xavier, gently. He sensed the roiling emotions from within the Cajun, as well as a certain level of hidden worry.  
"Cayanne always like computers, but you ask her. She not take well to bein' told how to act, but she like to learn." The tall mutant shrugged. "Best thing is to let her figure what to start with."

When the others had finally wandered off, Cayanne slipped from the mansion. The old familiar pain was beginning, the whispers and the spinning, tumbling visions that clogged her awareness. She bounded into a tree, stood absolutely still, listening, until she was sure that no-one was nearby. Her nose told her that this tree was isolated, and the girl climbed a few feet to hide behind a bough.  
She was trembling. Gritting her teeth as the pain _- fire/ice/need/hunger! _- nearly made her black out. It was getting worse, this was the worst it had ever been.  
Finally, the girl reached into the inner pocket of her trenchcoat, removing a small leather case. A practiced flip of her hand opened it, revealing a sterile syringe and three small, unlabeled vials filled with a pale, translucent liquid.  
Fighting off the tremors of pain and clawing fog of memory, she braced her left arm against her knee and filled the syringe a tenth of the way full from one of the vials. She unwound the small strap inside the case and quickly wrapped in around her arm, inserting the needle once the vein stood out.  
The voices faded. The pain receded a bit. It was manageable.  
Shuddering uncontrollably, she held one hand over the small wound, aching, seeking some small amount of warmth despite the secrecy - and the shame.

Classes weren't as difficult as she had hoped they would be. She sat on the far side of one of the schoolrooms, watching the tall, dark-skinned woman that had introduced herself as Miss Munroe.  
Despite her efforts, despite the drug, Cayanne was beginning to feel sick - more often and more intensely - every moment she was at the school. The tension was greater than she was accustomed to, and she found herself avoiding even her father as she attempted to lose herself in study.  
Science. English. History. It didn't matter. Her quick mind and endless curiosity allowed her to complete the assignments at breakneck speed, and she often retreated to the library to hide her injections - no longer once a day, now many times as many as four! - and to read everything she could get her gloved hands on.  
The drug blocked the need for sleep, for which she was grateful. If she had fallen asleep in a room she shared with others, she would have likely not been able to hide the need for the drug.  
Some secrets were made to be kept. Not even her beloved _Papa _knew of the drug, and Cayanne would rather face Hell itself than he ever discover it. So she kept to the library.  
And largely to herself.

"Has anyone seen Cayanne today?" Ororo asked, looking out at the class. She was rather surprised at the girl's absence - though enthusiastic and always wanting to question, she did seem to enjoy learning. It was odd that she would not come to class, especially the open discussions class.  
"I saw her earlier." said Brendan, raising his hand. Short and slight, with a wiry build, he was a spectacular athlete and forever competing with Cayanne every time they raced. "She looked a little sick."

Cayanne was curled in the tree, fists clenched, eyes squeezed shut, hearing nothing but a babble of voices, all knotted into an incomprehensible garble. Images of experiences not her own, sensations amplified by her own senses, surges of crackling sensations burning within her. She pressed her forehead against the bark, dimly aware of the fact it cut into her face.  
The drug wasn't working.  
In a moment of clarity, she realized that she couldn't hold it out anymore. The drug didn't work.  
Agony ripping through her mind in black shafts of lightning, howls of _everything _surging in her mind, Cayanne snarled in fury. She tilted back her head, staring into the summer sky, and howled in rage.  
The Surge came. She had feared another one as she feared nothing else, but this one blasted consciousness away from her, while leaving her clinging to her own sense of self with ragged claws.

Cerebro went berserk. There was no other way to describe it. Sirens sounded, the boards fried, and Hank was forced to fling himself over the stunned Xavier to shield him as flying, white-hot metal and the shrieking sound of overload filled the air.  
Reaching desperately with one foot, he was finally able to hit the emergency shutdown lever, but the racket lasted well over half an hour, bringing all the X-Men running.

Logan found Cayanne in the grips of what looked like a massive seizure. Her smaller frame was actually able to fling him several feet when he tried to restrain her, so violent were the convulsions, but worse was when she bounded to her feet, eyes blazing, an expression somewhere in between rage and pain on her face.  
"Get 'way from me!" she snarled, backing up, fists clenched.  
"Easy, kid." he replied, catching a whiff of - something - as he crouched down, watching her. "Everyone's gettin' worried."  
"Let 'em!" The girl's eyes were burning, feral. Pressed back against the mansion wall, one palm against the stone, she looked ready to bolt in any direction.  
Logan watched her movements, almost unconsciously taking into account the scent and muscle tremors. There was fear in her posture, but more - there was a savage hunger, a need of something she was as yet unable to define. Staying absolutely still, he waited for her to make the next move.  
"Go 'way." she growled, balancing forward on her toes, ready for a spring.  
Logan's posture answered her, as he shifted into _saika tanden, _letting the nothingness of utter readiness envelop his mind. The berserker within him snarled and lashed at his consciousness, but the calmness held.  
Cayanne squeezed her eyes shut, struggling with the maddening whispers inside her head, the Surge that still flashed and thundered in her blood. Her free hand became a claw as her head tilted back, an agonized, garbled yowl emerging from her strained throat.  
Logan moved forward with blinding speed, catching the girl just as another seizure hit, pitching her into his arms as he moved.

As Hank examined the unconscious young Cajun, he removed her trenchcoat - and a leather case tumbled from a hidden pocket. Lifting it carefully, he sniffed it, turning to Gambit. "Is Cayanne taking any medication...?" he began.  
"_Non."_ Gambit's expression was one of dawning awareness - followed by a look of deep sadness and concern before he managed to force his expressive features into a mask of expressionless unreadability. He rested a hand on his daughter's unmoving form and whispered, "Oh Cayanne, why you no tell me?"  
The blue-furred mutant looked down at the girl, now pale and still, and took one vial out with extreme care, turning to give Gambit a reassuring look. "I shall test this immediately." Hank said, quietly. "Stay with her, Remy. If she seizes again, call me."  
Gambit held her gloved hand, eyes on her face. "Why you not tell me?" he whispered again, tears in his eyes.

"It's phenapheraberathen." said Hank, aware of Professor Xavier's startled look. "It's a powerful sleep-deprivant and often used to suppress mutant abilities."  
Gambit's expression was one of complete disbelief. "Cayanne been drugging herself so she no _sleep?" _he sputtered, horrified.  
"It would seem so." Hank's expression was concerned. "Normally, 1cc would cause a mutant's abilities to remain either non-manifested, or operate at extremely low power. It was developed by the military, in the hopes of...ummm...."  
"Keepin' the mutants from ever bein' able to use their powers." No-one had heard Logan come in.  
"Well, yes." Hank looked uncomfortable. "But it had rather severe side effects...."  
"Side effects?" Gambit stared at him. "What side effect' it have?"  
"Sleeplessness, intense pain, migraines..." Hank took a deep breath. "It only holds the mutant gene from "activating" for a brief period of time, perhaps a year or so, sometimes past puberty. It is highly addictive, extremely dangerous, and takes time to be flushed from the tissues. I've started her on emphenol and a high-sugar drip, since she is badly dehydrated."  
"Emphenol?" demanded Gambit, eyes narrowed.  
"It's a stabilizing medication I created to ease the activation of the mutant gene." He looked concerned. "She has already begun the manifestation process, the drug had only managed to slow it down."  
"Gambit stay here with her." It was a statement. He gathered his daughter to him. "I un'erstand, _ma petit. _You rest now." his voice was soft. "_Papa _here."

Cayanne woke only when different body parts began to report in insistently. She had braced herself for the pain and confusion that had been her unrelenting companions these last days - but instead, there was only a distant sense of mental "static" and an almost-numb sensation throughout her body.  
It took several seconds for her to realize she was leaning against her father's shoulder, listening to the reassuring sound of his heartbeat. Opening her eyes discreetly, she glanced around her.  
Gambit was asleep, face looking down at her. Noticing his ever-present trenchcoat, the girl realized with horror that her own was on a coathanger against the wall, not around her.  
_The drug, they found the drug. _she thought, numbly. Part of her wanted to cry, and she snarled furiously at it. _This is no time to fall apart, dammit!_  
"Mornin', _mon têtu petit ange._" Gambit's eyes were open, watching her.  
"_Papa, _I..." Cayanne swallowed despite herself. "Cayanne not tell you....not tell you because...I was _si honteux!_" she whispered. Her eyes closed, turned away slightly. "Could not tell anyone, de drug, after a few times, needed it. Tried to stop, just made me horrible sick." She clenched her gloved hand, laughed humorously. "_Cajun pathetic suis moi, _eh, _Papa?"_  
Gambit took her face gently in his hands. "You do best you can, _mon peu d'amour_." The tall mutant's voice was uncharacteristically soft. "I not hold any of this against you. You trust your _Papa _next time, okay? Never be afraid o' Gambit."  
"T'ank you, _Papa._" Cayanne rested her cheek against his trenchcoat, hugging him tightly as she felt him embrace her. Her voice dropped to an emotion-laden whisper. "I love you."

Of Cayanne's class, most were seventeen or eighteen, and were largely unaware of a younger girl. Only Liam, who was just now learning to control his entropic ability that left him looking almost like a corpse; and Zane, who was able to control the elements; maintained relationships with the younger girl.  
However, they were tentative things. She recognized them. They did not know her - but that was as it should be. After all, she had been _very _careful to make sure that the group they belonged to rarely saw her. But then, they ate lunch together, were in study group together, but while Cayanne was always encouraging and friendly, she was also slow to show her inner emotions, hesitant to talk about her past.  
Thus her week's illness did not seem overly notable, though Liam and Zane visited twice, sitting and chatting after delivering her homework and assignments.  
Cayanne sat Indian-style, pencil busy, as she wrote out notes from a borrowed physics book. It was a fascinating idea, that so much could be explained by mathematics - but she wasn't fooled. Nothing so devoid of feeling ruled the world's nature. It was a fun subject - not as fun as English or Philosophy - but a lot of fun.  
What frustrated her was the fact that she felt like the book ended so far short. Three books from the library had filled in some of the blanks, but she felt like there was so much more she wanted to know.  
So she read. Constantly. On everything.  
"I couldn't stand reading half that stuff." observed Zane, when he and Liam came to visit. He ran a hand through his white-blonde hair, then shook his head. "But I'm not much of a reader."  
Liam blinked, then smiled tentatively. He had several books tucked under his arm, and carefully placed them on the foot of the bed.  
"If dey finish de damn things I' feel better about dem." grumbled Cayanne, tossing another book into the "read" pile.  
Zane grinned. "You think to much." he observed.  
"Cayanne may t' ink too much 'bout this, but when need to, let my instincts guide me."

"Incredible." said Hank, softly, staring at the latest blood-test from Cayanne. "The genetic sequence is changing - I've never seen anything like this."  
Xavier regarded the DNA strands with an expert eye. "This should be impossible." He shook his head. "The mutation rate is actually speeding up. RNA carriers are beginning to be produced at five times the normal rate, and accelerating."  
Hank nodded, resting a clawed finger absently against his chin. "Her system is stabilizing, Charles." he said, quietly. "Incredibly efficient. No fatigue toxins, no sign of aging - or the capacity for it. Charles, we may be looking at true immortality. Her system is immune to disease, toxins - I think that's why the phenapheraberathen worked for such a brief time on her. It simply couldn't keep up with her capacity to regenerate." He regarded Xavier a moment, then continued, "I have a feeling that there is much more to her mutation. In fact, it seems as though she is an - evolutionary step beyond mutants, Charles. Something totally new. A - metamutant, if you will."

Translations from the Cajun (French)

_mon sauvage petit ange - _my wild little angel  
_mon têtu petit ange - _my obstinate little angel  
_si honteux - _so ashamed  
_Cajun pathetic suis moi - _a pathetic Cajun am I  
_mon peu d'amour - _my little love


	3. Renewals

**_CAJUN CINNAMON_**   
**Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle   
**   
Chapter III   
**_Renewals   
_**   
 Cayanne hated physicals. On top of that, she hated the odd pharmaceutical clean-nauseating-abrasive scent of sterilized materials, the pinch and probing of needles, and the whole idea of being under a microscope.   
 If her _Papa _had not asked her to stay, she would have punched someone, manners or no.   
Still in more than a bit of a teen-aged huff, she yanked a book out of the alarmingly high pile and set to reading it. It seemed to use extremely large words to explain very simple things - contusions for cuts, abrasions for skinned knees - stupid. How were people suppose to read this anyhow?   
Flipping open the well-worn library copy of _Grey's Anatomy_, she scanned the pages for another definition.   
 "_Hypoglycemia," _she read to herself. "Having a lack of enough sugar in the blood   
_ Yay, does tha' mean I go eat chocolate 'til I pass out? Dis not tell me nothin_'! she thought, disgusted. She had already scanned _seizure disorder, epilepsy_, and _drug addiction, _all of which gave her information she already knew. It was beginning to irritate her.   
 Sliding off the hospital bed, the girl smacked the door with her closed fist. "I know you hear me! You not here in the next five minutes, I leavin'!" she yelled, tired of waiting for the two doctors.   
 The smooth, latchless door was a barrier that infuriated her. Cayanne glared at it, feeling a sense of fury coiled deep within her. Her fists clenched at her sides, as her crystal-blue-on-ebon eyes burned to silver-on-velvet.   
 All she felt was a drop of energy, as if she had fallen several feet, a horrible smell, and almost a feel of being flung forward. She hit the wall awkwardly, bounced off, and slid down. The girl wobbled to her feet, and realized with some surprise that she was in the hall _outside _the examination room.   
 She stared at the door, then at the wall, then back at the door.   
 Now thoroughly puzzled - and with curiosity aroused - the teenager closed her eyes again. She concentrated.   
 Nothing.   
 Scowling, she paced up and down, peripherally aware of the arrival of Doctor McCoy and Professor Xavier.   
 "Oh my stars!" whispered McCoy, obviously shocked.   
 Cayanne glared at him, felt a surge of frustrated anger - another blast of stench, a drop, and she was back _inside._   
 "Arrrrrgh!" she yelled. "Dammit!" Raising her voice, the girl hollered, "Let me outta dis place! Or I break de door down!"   
 The door slid open, and McCoy came over immediately, regarding the youngster with his intelligent, compassionate eyes. "Cayanne, do you feel all right?" he asked, gently.   
 "Oh, sure - perfect. You keep me locked in dis box like some rabid possum and I supposed to be _happy _'bout it?!" she snapped. Putting her hands on her hips, she glared up at both adults. "You think you can cage me, you got 'nother thing comin'! Either you finish dis _now, _or we got _serious _problem!"   
 "Cayanne," Xavier attempted to soothe her. "We aren't sure that you are healthy as of yet..."   
 "Lissen here now." growled the teen-ager. "I supposed to be healthier stuck in dis place? You slower den I think if you belive dat." Crossing her arms, she lifted her chin defiantly. "You say go t' school, I try dat. You say stay on grounds, I try dat. I not promise to stay here, an' I _will _fin' a way to escape."   
 Genuinely startled, the mutant Professor replied, "Cayanne, you are not a prisoner."   
 "Coulda fooled me!"   
 "You need treatment." he said, firmly. "You're dehydrated, mildly hypoglycemic..."   
 "Don' start." snapped the girl. "I know I was sick. Not sick now. Now, you gonna let me outta here?"   
 Xavier and McCoy exchanged bemused looks, then McCoy shrugged.   
 Relieved, Cayanne turned toward the door.   
 "But you'll have to follow the diet I'll prescribe." said Hank, firmly.   
 The girl turned back, stared at him.   
 McCoy grinned at her. "I'll be sure to let your father know."   
 Cayanne unexpectedly grinned back at him, then was gone.   
 Hank turned to Xavier. "Did you see, Charles?" he asked, as he gathered the records up from the hospital bed.   
 "Yes." Xavier folded his hands, his gaze turned inwards. "For just one moment, I could have sworn she resembled Kurt." 

_ So, there was one success. _the voice was nebulous, a deep rumble that cut gashes in the darkness.   
Three men were encompassed in that shadow. Two were large, with the look of seasoned fighters, but the last was seated in a wheelchair, forced to look up at the amorphous form that glowed crimson-red before them.   
 "Yes." said the wheelchair-bound figure, carefully.   
_ And it is in your custody? _The softness of the voice only added to the danger edging it.   
 Uncomfortably, the seated figure said, "Not currently...but...."   
_ But? _A trace of impatience. _There is no but. _A shaft of red, spun with black, encompassing one of the men. The force of it lifted him off the ground, a scream ripped from him before he was literally torn inside out, forced to endure the agony of sheer force turned on him. It took more than a minute before he - _melted, _skeletal hand still raised in a mute plea.   
 Silky soft, the disembodied voice said, _I will not see it further damaged. You have failed me. However, you are still of some use. _Eyes, eyes of blood-red fire burned down on the paralyzed figure. _Thus by my sufferance do you continue to live. Do not fail me again. Bring me my success. Return it to me undamaged. Destroy what stands in your way, but make no mistake, my tool, that should you fail, all the fires of Hell shall seem sweet comfort should you fail me once more.   
_   
 Rogue waited several days before she finally approached Gambit. It took that long to gather her thoughts.   
 It wasn't easy to find him, as he had taken to prowling the forested area of the estate, often in the company of Cayanne.   
 This time, she found him alone, sitting on flat stone near the stream that ran through the grounds, starting silently into the trees. He seemed lost in thought as she quietly approached, but when she reached his position, he said quietly, "Beautiful view, _oui_?"   
 Startled, she almost lost her footing, and hovered a moment to regain them. She had not felt so awkward since she was a girl.   
 "I suppose..." she began.   
 "Strange how we 'preciate things we don' see for a while." he said, uncharacteristically solemn. "I go home to de Bayou, but always come back and see dis." His sweeping gesture indicated the serene glade. "De Bayou, it part o' me, but dis part o' Gambit too. Strange, _non?_"   
 Now completely thrown off-guard, she sat down next to him, pulling a knee up to her chest.   
 Gambit didn't look at her. "You have question for Gambit, _ma petit?"_   
 "Your daughter...." Rogue realized she had blurted it out, but was helpless to stop it. "Her mother...she...." A blush rose in her cheeks, but the Cajun affected not to notice.   
 "Gambit have no clue. Cayanne not mine by blood, Marie." His gaze was now on her, his garnet eyes like gemstones in the coming dawn. "Why, _petit?" _For a moment his expression was full of pain and - something else. "She Gambit's daughter as much as if she were mine. Could not love her more."   
 Rogue felt a surge of relief. She couldn't explain exactly why, but she looked up at him, and somehow, read something in his eyes.   
 Normally, his eyes were so strange, so unique, they were unreadable. But somehow, the rising moon caught them and revealed the gaze not of the mutant, the Ragin' Cajun, but of the man. There was a great deal more there than she had ever seen, fiery depths she had never looked into.   
 Gambit raised one gloved hand, gently caressed a strand of hair off her forehead.   
 Rogue was suddenly terrified. Her powers...her curse....   
 But she couldn't move.   
 And in her heart, she really didn't want to.   
 "You ever hear it said, _ma petit, _dat sometimes all you need is de soul?" Gambit's voice was very soft. Their faces were perhaps an inch apart. "Ever'thing else, it come in time." He shrugged slightly. "I not much o' a spiritual sort, Marie - but even Gambit belive this."   
 She wanted to belive him, her heart pounding in her chest, choking off the words.   
 Gambit's eyes closed, and he straightened. Remembering her choice of his friend Peter Rasputin - who was unaffected by her powers in his Colossus form, so recently dead - and perhaps his own experience of being too deeply hurt.   
 He turned away.   
 "You go on back now, _ma petit._" he said, voice seeming to float on the cool night air. "Not worry. Gambit still feel de same for you as he always has. No games here, in dis place. I teach Cayanne to always say her heart, now I do de same. Go on, Marie."   
 "Remy..." her own voice was painful to use.   
 He didn't turn. She realized he had stiffened up, spine straight, as though standing at attention.   
 She caught his arm, turned him - and saw what she had never expected to see.   
 Gambit was crying.   
 Oh, not loudly, or with any way most would see it, it was just tears in his eyes, slowly streaking his cheeks. He lifted one hand, dashed them impatiently away. Roughly, he snapped, "Why you think Gambit go back to de Bayou so much? Dere family there, yes, but you think I not want - want...." He spun away from her, hands clenched. "Gambit cannot touch you, _ma petit. _And you..."   
 "Remy." Marie stepped in front of him, stared up into his eyes. She was trembling. Partially in anger - at herself, at him, and at the unkind Fates that had trapped her with this power that endangered everyone she touched. In once moment, she forced herself to look at her own heart, see it from all sides, face the hurts that were and could be, and made a leap of faith.   
 "Remy, look at me." she said it as gently as she could.   
 He stared down at her, eyes now as unreadable as gemstones, as distant as the moon.   
 She took a deep breath. "I loved Peter. He was my friend - and I think I _wanted_ to love him, since I could _touch _him. I needed that." Her eyes searched his. "I tried to love a lot of people, sugah, and I think - I think in my heart I was looking for the courage to love you."   
 He blinked, and she stepped closer, gaining courage.   
 "And I do. You know that, don't you? Not as a brother, or as a friend - though that's part of it - I just couldn't bear for my - my power to - _invade _you." She was shaking. Gambit stepped closer, a warm barrier against the cold. _There's no turning back now. _she told herself. "That's what happens, Remy. I steal something from people. I - reach inside them and take something away, even if just for a minute or so. It's like...like _rape." _Tears streamed down her cheeks. "I couldn't do that to you. But when others - offered, I could because they _weren't _you..." She broke down. The truth, ugly and painful, had left a terrible void, a wound that was too deep to be easily healed.   
 Arms wrapped around her, and she felt the warmth of Gambit's trenchcoat, heard the distant thunder of his heart. He spoke softly, in a gentle voice so rare for the wild Cajun mutant that played every card and put on a fearless face no matter where he went.   
 "Marie, when Gambit said he loved you, he meant forever. Dis not ever go away." he said, softly. "I not care anymore, 'bout de danger. Some 'tings worth dyin' for."   
 It was then Marie felt his lips on hers, a warm flash of connection and - _nothing. _No pain from him, no loss, only a connection slowly being made. She didn't understand it, felt his own confusion, was aware of their hearts beating in tandem, their lives momentarily lay bare to one another, powers touching, merging, growing, a surge of sheer _joy, _a rock-steady love, her own fierce devotion returned, and she was clinging to Gambit while supporting him.   
 Far away, perched in her favorite tree, a sleeping Cayanne woke momentarily, smiled sleepily and mumbled, "Surprise, _Papa. _Love you." And was promptly asleep again.


	4. Culture Clash

**_CAJUN CINNAMON_**  
**Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle  
**  
Chapter IV  
**_Culture Clash  
_**  
Cayanne woke up on a branch, sprawled on her stomach, and opened one eye. She knew her _Papa _and the woman that had reacted so strongly to her when she'd first arrived were sitting near the water's edge now, no longer -  
What?  
_Love/hope/happiness/joy...._eeeeek!  
The ground rushed up at her, and she flailed her arms wildly, abruptly realizing she'd - stopped.  
Stopped?  
She stared at the ground.  
The teen-ager could swear it stared back at her.  
Floating perhaps a foot above the ground, stretched out on her stomach, she cautiously moved an arm, felt herself rotate slightly.  
_Hmmmm. _She thought, trying not to feel ridiculious. Another movement, another slight rotation.  
A few more movements, furious arm flappings, and a few choice comments did not lower her to the ground.  
_Dis embarassin'. _she mentally groaned.  
_Wha...? _the mental voice was female.  
_Nothin'! G'back t'sleep, yer havin' a nightmare. _she thought, hopefully.  
_Cayanne?_  
_ No, dis de Jolly Green Giant, I invadin' the joint._  
_ Err...._  
_ Nothin'. G'back t'sleep. _she grumbled.  
_Cayanne, are you all right? It's Jean._  
_ I fine, you fine, ever'body fine - _auuuugh!  
She tumbled unceremoniously into the leaves at the tree's base, and rose spitting grass and and more than one leaf from her mouth. _Well, _she thought to herself dryly, _guess dis prove I not ever become no vegetarian._  
_ What?_  
"GET OUT M'HEAD!!!!" Cayanne roared, mentally and vocally. Birds took flight as she slapped a hand over her mouth, aware of her father's presence approaching. "Oh, _rien, enfer et une malédiction sur le diable!" _The teen-ager growled, furious at herself. Even though the mental presence quickly retreated, she knew that her father was almost there.  
"Cayanne, what you doin' here, _peu d'ange_?" Gambit asked, stepping agiley around a tree, Marie right behind him.  
The teen-ager looked up at him, shifted her feet, then grinned sheepishly. "I asleep up dere." She indicated the boughs in a sweeping gesture. "Feel you and her come t'gether - happy for ya, _Papa, puits et honnêtement _- went back to sleep, den wake up and, well," she shrugged, more than a bit embarrassed, "fall. Not sure why 'bout that."  
Gambit and Rogue both stared at the girl.  
"You _felt _us?" Marie's voice a bit alarmed. Her cheeks flushed with color despite herself.  
"Hey, not like I _mean _to!" snapped Cayanne, her eyes sparkling with silver flecks as she regarded the woman. "Jus' happened. Don' have a nest o' gators on me."  
"Cayanne." Gambit's voice contained a gentle note of warning.  
The teen-ager stared at them both. "You not belive me_, Papa_?" That idea stung, more than she was willing to admit. "You think I - spy on you?" she demanded.  
Gambit put a gentle arm around Marie, feeling her embarassment and letting her feel his own calming reassurance, then around his daughter. Cayanne would never spy on him. Not even if the Theives' Guild asked, which was the only other authority - besides her father and grandfather - the girl halfway recognized. He didn't tell her, it was an _awareness _he shared.  
Marie calmed herself. "Of course he does, Cayanne. I do too." she replied, suprised that she meant it.  
Cayanne looked from one to another, much relieved. "Den I go." she commented. But she stopped at the end of the glade, looked back with an impish grin and asked, "So, when you get married and I have a _Mama_, eh?"  
With a laugh of mischief, the girl left the pair staring into one another's eyes.

Logan was restless.  
Unable to define the source of his disquiet, nor find any calm inside the mansion, he prowled the grounds, slient as a passing shadow. His senses were all on the alert, and he picked up an - unusual - scent several moments before anyone came into view.  
Pepper. Cinnammon. A touch of spice. The soft fragrance of a crysanthamum mixed with the faint tang of a cherry blossom.  
He inhaled deeply, just as Cayanne came up over the slight rise, obviously deep in thought.  
She regarded him - he noticed with some inner suprise that she stared him straight in the eyes - then grinned slightly.  
"Looks like Cayanne not de only one up late."  
The older mutant returned her gaze, steadily. "Yeah." he replied, gruffly.  
Cayanne put her hands on her hips. "You sure don' talk much. Part o' yer mutation or just ol' plain stubborn silence?" she inquired, dryly.  
Despite himself, Logan grinned. "You shoot straight from the hip, kid." he replied, straightening from his crouch.  
Cayanne grinned back. "You call me kid again an' I'll punch ya in the nose."  
Logan's expression turned almost wolfish as he smiled again. "Try it."  
"Name de place." was the grinned reply.

When Gambit and Rogue returned to the mansion, they were holding hands.  
Scott heard Jean's little gasp, and realized that Marie was not wearing one glove, and the hand wrapped around her's was equally as bare. Yet the pair was involved in quiet conversation, neither showing signs of Rogue's power taking any effect.  
And the young woman's smile could have outshone the sun.  
Gambit wore a slightly absent, even mildly goofy smile, but when she looked up at him and chuckled, his laughter joined her's.  
Scott looked over at his wife, and wrapped a tender arm around her, smiling down at her.  
Jean's green eyes stared back with a love that made his own expression turn a little silly, and she smiled, standing on tiptoe to kiss him lightly. "Silly. And you have a class to teach." she teased, swatting him with her towel.  
Hands raised, he advanced on her, "Oh, silly am I? Mrs. Summers, you are gonna get it!" He waggled his fingers, then swiftly ran them along her sides, tickling.  
Jean squawked in mock horror, warning, "Scott Summers, don't you dare!"  
She dashed up the stairs, with her husband in hot pursuit, laughing like teen-agers.  
Cayanne came in just as Gambit and Rogue noticed the pair, and gave a long-suffering sigh.  
_"Adults_."

School was easy and not easy for Cayanne, as contridictory as that sounded. She rapidly became bored with the pace of lessons, often leafing through anatomy and physiology - her current interest - books during classes.  
Idly doodling on her paper, she uttered an inward sigh. This seemed pointless to her. She spent half the day - in this case a fine, blustery day just made for tree-dancing - trapped in a stuffy room listening to Miss Munroe talk about society and it's needs, the other half prowling the grounds. Even now, she hated the idea of sleeping and still avoided it.  
"That's darn good." whispered Zane, leaning across the back row to her.  
Cayanne looked up at her friend, then down at the paper. Her doodling had never been anything she'd taken seriously.  
The soft rustle of the teacher's clothing warned her just as Miss Munroe arrived at her shoulder.  
"You have a true talent, Cayanne." the tall, regal woman's voice was not at all mocking as she examined the stunningly rendered image of herself. It was not a physical drawing, lines and form, but rather a perceptual one, showing the deeply spiritual, sensitive warmth and subtle sensuality that was not merely Storm, but Ororo Munroe.  
"Dis?" She eyed the woman warily, watching for some sort of joke, or attempted disipline. "Dis just scratchin'." The teen-ager dismissed it with a shrug.  
"We should talk more about this after class."  
_"More _school?" groaned Cayanne.  
Students giggled, earning a glower for their reaction.  
"Not exactly." soothed the dark-skinned weather mutant. "After class."

Scott finally coaxed Logan into helping him teach gym class. The older mutant had been edging further and further away from them, losing himself in a grief that his brother - Scott had finally come to call him that in his heart - and held him as dear as his birth-brother Alex - knew would soon metamorphasize into a need to lose himself in beserker rage. Teaching the youngsters would likely help him as much as it did Scott.  
So, when he consulted with Logan on a regime, both of them unconciously began to work as a team.  
More than a team.  
As brothers.

Cayanne slouched in her desk as the other students filed out, laughing and shoving. She looked under her brows at the teacher, then ran her fingers absently over the image she'd drawn. _Stupid scratchin'. _she growled at herself_. Not somethin' I oughta be wastin' time on._  
Ororo came over, pulled out a seat, and sat down in front of her, her gaze meeting the girl's. She sensed the frustration and wariness there, almost like a wild animal barely tolerant of humans. But also she sensed hidden depths in the girl, a sensitivity she went out of her way to mask.  
"You have a gift with art." she said, gently.  
Cayanne eyed her warily. "Art?" she said, as though the word felt strange in her mouth. "Yer kiddin'."  
"Not at all." Ororo's voice was serene. "That kind of sketch takes students years to accomplish, if indeed they ever do."  
The teen-ager leaned back. "It just scratchin' - always been dat to me." she said, carefully.  
"Would you like to study it? I notice that most of the courses you have far surpassed."  
"Dey not so hard."  
Ororo smothered a gentle smile. Clearly the girl had no idea how intelligent she truly was. Most of the seniors were bewildered by the subjects she completed with ease.  
"You gave a promise to attend classes and you have, Cayanne. But perhaps we should focus a bit more on what you are ready to learn. Anatomy, I notice?"  
Cayanne shrugged, but seemed slightly less tense as she listened.  
"Very well then. Tommarrow we shall begin a program a bit more challanging for you." She rested a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder. "Learning should never become a chore, Cayanne. You have a great talent. I ask only that you let me help you realize it."

Althea Burke was a stunning, shapely blonde with sky-blue eyes, and it took her fully fifteen minutes to get ready for gym class. Denise Lauren, her best friend, was also a blonde, but with light green eyes and a slim build. She was breathless when she arrived, seating herself on the bench next to her friend.  
"Guess who our teacher's going to be?" she asked, breathlessly.  
Althea arched a perfect brow in answer, continuing to brush her long, straight hair.  
"Mr. Summers!" She smiled excitedly. "He's one of the most _handsome _teachers at the school!"  
Her friend's expression lit up with intrest. "He certainly is." Her smile was calculating, seductive. "We'll have an - entertaining - time in this class."  
Denise smiled broadly in answer.

Cayanne found it rather amusing that she was assigned to a gym class. It seemed rather redundant, but a promise was a promise. With a sigh, she followed the written instructions to the girl's locker room.  
The sound of several girls in high spirits greeted her sensitive ears. A tall girl saw her slip and shoved a plastic-wrapped package into her hands, telling her brusqely to "wear that".  
With a scowl, the teen-ager unrolled a pair of black shorts with a white symbol and a grey short-sleeved shirt with the same symbol on the front. "Professor Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters" was printed neatly in a circle around the "X" insignia, and Cayanne examined them closely as she wandered over to the lockers.  
To her mild suprise, one was labeled with her name. She opened it - it was not locked - and discovered a pair of white socks and and high-top tennis shoes.  
_Well, I expected I see. _she thought to herself. The girl ran her fingers down the familiar trenchcoat, then sighed agian. _All right, _Papa, _I try dis too._  
But she ducked into a bathroom and quickly stripped down to her undergarments, then changed into the shorts, socks, and shoes, wrapping her clothing around itself. Going back to her locker, she found a key, considered a moment, then shoved her clothing in, pocketing the key without locking it. If someone wanted to steal her coat, shirt, and pants, they could, but she really didn't see the point.  
Hopping from foot to foot loosened the stiff leather of the shoes, and she bounded through the door, testing for slide on the smooth floor. This assured, she examined the large room.  
Students were already gathered at roughly the half-way point, and she wandered in that direction.  
A blonde girl looked down her nose as though smelling something foul and said loudly, "I see _some _members of the student body don't know how to dress!"  
Cayanne snorted. "I see _some _member o' de student body no have no manners." she replied, grinning ferally.  
The older girl stepped up to her, staring down at her - she was perhaps five inches taller than the young Cajun - her obvious gaze condemning the loose gym uniform in comparison to her own magnificant form.  
"You got bad vision? If not, I suggest you take step back." Cayanne's voice was mild, but tinged with danger.  
Althea stared down at her with utter contempt, turning aside with a snort.  
Cayanne rolled her eyes, and some students snickered at her expression.

Gambit had always thought of himself by that name, ever since he became a member of the X-Men. Thinking of himself as Remy LeBeau brought up a host of memories, some good, some bad, and it had always been easier - and in his opinion, wiser - to keep the two seperate in his mind.  
But now, standing with an arm around Marie, he was more Remy than he had been since he and Cayanne had left the Bayou.  
"Life seem much different now_, oui_?" he said, softly. His garnet-vevet eyes watched the horizon, as they enjoyed the simplicity of the sunset.  
Marie smiled wryly. "Life has always been different for us, Remy." But she snugged against his seated form, enjoying the warmth of his presence. "That's been the problem - one moment we're X-Men, off to fight the Good Fight, the next we're just people looking for some peace in our lives."  
Remy smiled. "Dat what make life challengin_', chere_." He absently stroked her hair, aware of the chirp of cicadas, the soft drone of insects, and the gentle pressure of the woman he loved against him.  
He looked down at her, peaceful and content, and said softly, "But now we face dis together."  
Marie's smile was unconciously radiant. "Always." she whispered.

Cayanne ignored Althea for the most part, though her instincts warned her to never turn her back on the older girl.  
Her hands ached. It was a strange feeling, and she flexed and stretched them repeatedly, working the cramps out. She sat down, finally, on the bleachers, and rubbed the back of her neck, feeling brief Surges, not painful, just _- jolts _- flashing into her mind.  
She gritted her teeth, hating herself for a brief wish for her drug, forcing it furiously from her mind  
_ Never again_. she swore silently_. Never!_  
"....And her father is just a thief." Althea's voice. Cayanne felt her gaze on her. Referring to her father.  
She bounced to her feet, eyes ablaze. "Take that back_, vous avez abîmé l'ingrate!"_  
Althea stared down at her, enjoying the commotion, and pronounced loudly, "And a murderer......"  
WHAM!!  
The older girl shrieked in disbelieving shock from the floor, while Cayanne - who's punch had sent Althea there - pounced on her. The battle was noteworthy, since Althea's mutation included super-strength.  
A punch sent Cayanne flying straight up, but instead of falling in a heap, the young Cajun flipped over, her heels landing on Althea's midriff with a Rebel Yell of defiant fury.  
Althea grabbed her arm, and Cayanne kicked it, dodging out of the way.  
The other students were in a noisy ring, and the two combatants regarded one another.  
Glaring, the blonde mutant hissed, "What can one expect, from the daughter of a murd...._aaaaiiiiieee!"_  
Cayanne, now well-aware that a good blow from her stronger opponent could cause more damage, had adminsistered a roundhouse kick directly to her mouth. "Let see how you lie wit no teeth, _menteur et imbécile_!" she snarled, through gritted teeth.  
Althea activated her powers, launching herself at her opponent, who leapt over her, spinning to attack.  
Cayanne was abruptly caught in strong arms, struggling violently, cursing inventively in her native Cajun.  
Logan held on, aware of the older girl's smug smirk as she came to a landing a few feet away. His gaze darkened as he detected a whiff of what her file described as "persuasive pheremones", and he was briefly tempted to let Cayanne loose.  
"Let 'er go, Cayanne." he said, firmly, and the girl yanked loose.  
"_Il qui raille mon père, sent ma colère - même à l'éternité!" _she snarled, eyes blazing silver with sheer rage.  
Logan stared at her. Not because of the rage, or the words - but because of the sense of love and honor behind them. He didn't smile - she would likely misinterpret that - but nodded instead, with perfect understanding.  
_Giri. _Moral obligation, the bonds of family. The core of _bushido_, the unyeilding code of the _samurai_.  
Cayanne scowled at Scott, who had appeared to break up the fight, and snapped, "I come here, I keep my oath. Not practice with amateaurs. Someone gonna get hurt - and I choose when I avenge father's good name." Her eyes narrowed. "I go now. You got problem wit dat?"  
A war had just begun.  
It would be nastier than most.

Translations from the Cajun (French)

_rien, enfer et une malédiction sur le diable! _- damn, hell, and a curse on the devil!  
_peu d'ange_ - little angel  
_puits et honnêtement _- well and honestly  
_vous avez abîmé l'ingrate _ - you spoiled ingrate  
_menteur et imbécile _- liar and fool  
_Il qui raille mon père, sent ma colère - même à l'éternité! _- he who mocks my father, feels my wrath - even to eternity!


	5. Interlude Ice

  
ICE

_A hand touched a button, and the computer screen lit. Though there were easier, quicker ways to enter data, the darkness-hidden figure set to his task with agile, well-practiced fingers...  
_  
There are truths and then there are truths. I am well aware of what people say. I am the bad seed, the dark child, the feared and horrible monster that came from a good man, while my brother - well, he is a hero, is he not?  
Yet, the truth is that for one word of kindness, one offer of family, and I would be undone. Lost, in the warmth of it. Has no-one ever asked why I am so cold?  
Ice is a shield, limned with a lifetime of experience, a childhood of hate and focused rage. I grew strong by gathering it around me, and pulling it within. No emotion. No fear. Nothing. Just the silence of the ice.  
And I am a force to be reckoned with. Hated, yes, but also feared. Most flee from my merest glance. I have seen strong men cower before me. I have shattered minds and tore bodies asunder.  
During it all, I felt nothing. Nothing at all. Only coldness and -  
And a need for the coldness to warmed.  
When does a monster become a man?  
I see perhaps it is when he discovers that he is capable of love.  
Oh, most would see it as a trap, a cruel act of tactical viciousness.  
It is not.  
Love, Hate - two sides of the same coin. Passions.  
Even I am not immune.  
I hate them.  
I need them.  
My enemies. My family.  
My salvation.  
I do not even have the dignity of a name. Not a true one, only an appellation of what I create. Thus was I controlled. Thus was I molded. But now....  
Now the ice begins to melt, ever so slightly, and I lay awake at nights clutching my cold hate to me with trembling hands, afraid that should it leave me, there will be nothing left.  
Am I made for this? Is ice and cruel strikes at my enemies the only reason for me to exist?  
I am no longer so sure.  
Once it was easy. "Kill," I was told, and that I did. "Destroy," and again, I obeyed. But then I discovered I did not rule my own destiny. The ice consumed me. And now, I feel nothing.  
No.  
That is a lie.  
One I have told myself one time too many.  
I love my brother in my hatred, and this keeps me alive. It holds the ice at bay, so that I exist - no, _live! _- and thrive.  
The ice is losing ground.  
Who will I become?  
What name will I have?  
I hated so strongly it burned with the cold. Now I feel - I _feel._  
I want to speak to them. I want to be accepted, loved, wanted.  
I do not know where to begin.  
At the beginning, I suppose.  
Very well.  
The beginning, then.

Jean Grey brought the oddly stamped envelope in to where her husband Scott and their son Nathan sat, enjoying the warmth of the fire.  
Scott was instantly concerned. "What is it?" he asked, looking up at her.  
"It's for us. You, me, and Nathan." she was puzzled, and sat down between them to open it.  
Written in a strong, solid script was a simple line of text, followed by a signature.

_Happy Anniversary, Brother. We are free.  
_  
_ Stryfe_


	6. Courage Against the Shadows

**_CAJUN CINNAMON_**  
**Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle  
**  
Chapter V  
**_Courage Against the Shadows  
_**  
_ "To love someone deeply gives you strength. Being loved by someone deeply gives you courage."_ -- Lao Tzu

Cayanne stalked into her room and saw the outline of her father and Marie. Despite her current fury, a slight smile touched her lips, but then her roiling emotions soon had her moving again.  
Tossing her trenchcoat, shirt, and pants onto the bed, the girl wrapped the blanket around the pillow, sheet, and her boots. Slinging it over her shoulder, she stalked back out, down the stairs, and nearly ran into Scott, who was coming out of Xavier's office.  
"Cayanne, where..."  
"Out."  
"When..." he began again.  
"Later." she growled.  
The tall mutant looked down at her, and the girl glared back up at him.  
"Don' worry, I keep word. Stay onna groun's. Now move, or I run over ya." she snarled, still full of fury.  
Jean spoke from the doorway. "Cayanne, could we speak to you, please?" The tone of her voice was gentle.  
The young Cajun put down her burden, scowling. "Why?" she demanded. "Dis not my home. Not look like it ever be, except for _Papa_." There was a trace of bitterness in her expressive voice. Internally, she kicked herself for the comment. Her home was with her father, her only family.  
The young woman's eyes were kind as she guided the girl inside, seating her in front of Professor Xavier's desk.  
Cayanne was instantly wary, but his dark eyes were serene as he returned her gaze.  
"It would seem that there was an altercation in the gym, would you like to tell me your side?" he asked, gently.  
_"Non_."  
Everyone stared at her.  
"Facts, dey speak for demselves_, oui_? I not think you not know what went on." She shrugged. "Not much for me t'say."  
Xavier leaned back in his chair, regarding the girl steadily. He wished abruptly there was more trust between them, more sense of - safety. Once more, he noticed the feral, sharp features, large, intelligent eyes, and thin, adolecent body. There was still a great deal of question of her abilities - they had obviously only scratched the surface. Disiplining her would likely push her further away, making the girl less trusting of a place he wanted her to be comfortable in, but the fight in the gym...  
The solution suddenly came to him, one that would greatly benfit the youngster - if all parties would agree.  
"I believe that Miss Burke..."  
Cayanne clenched her fists, eyes blazing. "_Ne dites pas ce nom en ma présence!_" she hissed.  
Jean rested a gentle hand on the girl's shoulder, trying to soothe, empathically and with her presence.  
The girl bounced from the chair. "_Damnez-le! N'essayez pas cela sur moi!_" she yelled, enraged.  
But Jean saw the faintest glint of terror in her eyes. She glanced quickly at Xavier.  
_Charles, someone has invaded her mind before. She's terrified of it, of telepaths. _Her mental voice was soft with deep compassion and sympathy.  
"I'm sorry, Cayanne." she said aloud. "I didn't mean to manipulate you. I was trying to comfort you."  
The girl regarded her with piercing, searching eyes. "You a telepath, _oui?_" she asked, deciding to come right out with it.  
"I have some telepathic abilities, but I'm a stronger telekenetic." Jean replied, taking a seat. "Do you know what that is?"  
"_Oui. _And word is wrong. _Psychokenetic._" the young Cajun replied, absently, turning the new information over in her mind. "And you, _Professeur_, you a stronger telepath. _Oui?_"  
"I am. But I assure you, my abilites are currently, ah, disabled." Xavier had made the decision to be completely honest with the girl.  
"The _Tueur d'ordinateur de secours?"_  
Both adults stared at the girl, who shrugged. "Cayanne have strange dreams, sometimes. Just askin'." she said.  
"We would like you to stay." said Xavier, sensing that his young guest would go no further. Jean's smile was almost maternal as she nodded agreement.  
Cayanne looked honestly taken aback. "Why? Not fit in here." she responded, warily.  
"I think you might, my young friend." Xavier's voice was gentle. "If you will be patient with yourself."

"Ya want me to _what?_" Logan regarded Xavier with mild disbelief.  
"I want you to train Cayanne." The Professor sipped his tea. "Individually."  
"She's a kid!" grumbled the Canadian mutant.  
"Young, but she is an active, highly intelligent individual with a need for activity. If that is not focused we could - lose her." Xavier looked straight at the other mutant, expression oddly sad. "And I do not think she would deal well in any of the gym classes."  
Logan suddenly remembered her scent. Mysterious and oddly familiar.  
Pepper and spice. Cinammon. Crysanthamum's soft fragrance mixed with the gentle tang of a cherry blossom.  
"Okay."  
There was a moment's startled silence. Clearly they had belived there would more of an argument.  
But he couldn't forget that scent.  
And he didn't know why.

Cayanne went back to Scott's office, swallowing hard on her pride. She felt this was the right thing to do, but that did not make it any easier.  
"Cayanne!" he smiled at her, to her suprise. "Come in." He waved her to a chair.  
Stiffly, the girl said, "Come here to say sorry for the fight. Not for thrashin' the one who insult _Papa_ - yer class. So, sorry fer that."  
Scott regarded her through his glasses, seeing the flicker of reds and rubies, pinks and garnets of her body. She was thin, but carried herself with a certain presence he almost envied.  
But he nodded, knowing that to a teen-ager, dignity was as vital as air.  
"Thank you, Cayanne. I appreciate that." he said, warmly.

When Gambit found out about the fight, he hit the proverbial cieling. It was almost comical to see him fuss over his daughter, who's hug was as warm and loving as ever.  
"You got in fight with a super-strong mutant_, vous pourrait avoir été détruit!_" he was saying as they walked back to the mansion from his room.  
"Would've been worth it." Cayanne was aware that her father regarded her in horror. "No-one insult _Papa!_" Her gaze was unyielding, full of love, pride, and passion's fire.  
Gambit knelt down and stared into her eyes. "No, _mon peu d'amour_. Not matter what dey say. Matter what you belive to yer ol' _Papa, _but not matter what dey say." he said, gently. "You not have to...."  
"Always will." Her gaze moved away from his, and he saw the faint shine of unshed tears. "Always! Always love _Papa._"  
He wrapped his arms around her and held her gently, rocking her against him. She trembled once, able to weep only in the safety of her father's arms, and he lifted her despite her objections.  
"Time for you t' get some sleep, _têtu petit ange_." he said, feeling her stiffen slightly. "I stay wit you. But you sleep tonight."

"How is she?" whispered Marie, peeking in the door.  
Curled under a thick, ancient blanket, Cayanne stirred fitfully until Remy rested a comforting hand on her hair.  
"_Épuisé_, _cher._" he replied, also in a whisper. "She never sleep well, but tonight she sleep de night away."  
Marie's eyes were questioning.  
"'Cordin' to Hank, she not sleep for most o' de time I been an X-Man." He stroked his daughter's hair. "I not see, _cher._" His gaze lifted, showing his torment. "How I not _see?_" He shook his head, hiding his eyes in his hand. "She not sleep. She not eat much. Jean-Paul say she need me, I come back, but she need a _father, _not an X-Man."  
Cayanne stirred, turning instinctively toward her father's voice.  
Marie wrapped her arms around him, watching the girl's fitful sleep. "It's not too late, sugah. She has you now. And she's safe here." she said, tenderly. "I could learn to really like that kid."  
Remy smiled at her, gently sqeezing her hand. "She tired, but dere more. Gambit feel it, she - hidin' somethin' from me. De hurt." he gently kissed his daughter's forehead.  
"You can read her mind?" Marie's voice was startled.  
Remy's expression was thoughtful. "_Non." _he replied. "Remy - he feel what she feel. Know her feelings. Feel her, like a - a _respiration à mon coeur." _He shook his head, then looked a little sheepish. "Marie, Remy feel you now, too, different way." His expression was oddly open, as though he fought to force down all the secrecy his life had taught him. "In - _mon coeur._"  
Marie sat down on the chair next to him. In one way, it was frightening, discovering that he could sense emotions. In the other, she was happier than she could have belived she'd ever be. They were _together -_  
And suddenly a warm sensation rose in her heart, swamping her with love, hope, passion - and Remy. The sense of him, his warmth, touched her to the very soul. And she knew, in a way that defied explanation, the same intense emotion had just lanced through Remy's barriers, into his own deepest being.  
His expression showed - briefly - the lonliness, uncertianty, mind-numbing _terror _that had followed him so much of his life. For a moment, Marie knew what she saw was the boy he had been.  
And she knew in that moment that she belonged right where she was.

_Againagainagainagain...._NO!  
The putrid drip of stagnant water. Cold, so cold. _Fear/confusion/need/hunger/hunger/need/_do it!/_nonononononono/_do it!/_no/run/run/hurts/hurts!_  
Blood dripping, falling in splatters on the floor.  
Laughter. Voices. The hum of equipment.  
_No!_  
Cutting. Blood everywhere. Pain. Cold.  
The whirr-whistle of a whip.  
Pain.  
Darkness. Howls. Need.  
Need. _Need._  
Shrivelled husk falling, horror, need, running.  
_Run!_  
Cold. Pain. Hunger. Need.  
Hunt.  
Kill.  
_Rage._  
Darkness. Howls. Rage. _Rage. Hunger._  
**_Feed.  
_**  
****"_Noooooooo!" _Cayanne bolted awake, over her father's chair, and down the hallway. She clawed frantically at the air, then felt the drop/launch of movement.  
She barely had time to react before she landed on cold stone tiles. Curling there, she felt the crack of her head against it.  
_Hunger._  
_ Feed!_  
Slamming her head once against the floor, she felt something warm and sticky on her forehead, then another drop/launch.  
Swirls of darkness, eddies of emotion. Terror.  
Awareness. Dim, then wakeful.  
Clawing at her. At her mind, her very Self.  
Rage.  
Cayanne _howled. _A sound of rage, pain, confusion - and _need._  
Wrenching the _thing_ toward her, she tore her way into it, snuffing it's awareness out like a candle.  
It shrieked, clawing feebly at her.  
A powerful eddy left, flowing up, and she sent it to where it should be.  
The other flailed, clawed, and she snarled, clawing in her mind, past the illusion, into the Ghost Killer.  
She ripped into it's mind, hungering, devouring, draining it dry.  
It fought.  
She enjoyed it.  
It shrieked.  
It was music to her.  
She consumed it all, laughing, filling the dark void of hunger deep within her.  
Then collapsed, sliding into a warm, safe place where she could keep her _Papa _safe.  
Where she was safe.

Charles Xavier was wrenched from sleep by his own scream. His mind was flooded with the power he had lost, opened and receptive, open to all the psychic "noise" he had so briefly not had to shield against.  
"Professor!"  
Scott. Jean. Hank. Warren. All there. Awakened by his cry.  
Sitting up, he pulled up his psychic shields, smiling reassuingly at his worried students.  
"Are you all right?"  
Bless Scott. Always concerned about those around him. Jean, always caring and warm.  
A muffled rush of air announced the arrival of Rogue, airborne and obviously in shock.  
Gambit arrived a moment later, garnet eyes almost glowing with emotion.  
"Cayanne!" he managed, as Rogue came to a graceful landing next to him.

The location, as the saying goes, was the last place they looked.  
Onslaught's Enclosure.  
"_Mon Dieu! Non!" _cried Gambit, restrained only by Scott's desperate grip.  
"Remy! No! We don't know..."  
"_Laissez-moi partir, damnez-vous!_"  
Cayanne lay sprawled on the cold metal floor, a faint trickle of blood flowing from her nose and forehead.  
Xavier scanned the area and his expression changed to one of shock.  
Logan, who had arrived last, then abruptly crouched low, growling low in his throat.  
Twisting and thrashing frantically, the girl was caught in her own nightmare, unaware of the newcomers one moment, the next launching herself at the older mutant, black fire dancing around her hands.  
Gambit caught her, held her tightly, clinging to her struggling form. The darkness faded, she clung to him, and silence finally settled, marked only by the shuddering breaths of Cayanne and Remy's soft, soothing voice.

Cayanne sat in an oversized chair, wrapped in a blanket, holding on to her father's hand. The others had gathered back in Xavier's office, and even Logan remained in the room, hidden in the shadows of a corner.  
"_Qu'arrive à moi?_" she managed, through chattering teeth.  
Hank patted her arm gently as he said, "Your temperature dropped several degrees, and you have lost a great deal of blood sugar." He was worried about the low blood sugar. "Some nice tea will help that."  
Cayanne snorted. "I t'ink dat not help much." she grumbled.  
Remy's expression could best be described as distraught. His daughter leaned against him, staring at Xavier fixedly.  
Xavier's voice was very quiet. "I have a suspicion, Cayanne." Her gaze did not waver. "But to be sure, I need to do a brief mental scan...."  
Cayanne's voice was just short of a growl. "_Non!" _she snapped.  
Remy moved from his chair, knelt beside her. "Listen to yer _Papa, _now, _peu d'amour_." His voice was soft, velvet comfort. "You hurt, yer _Papa, _he need t'know. I here." With a flick of his wrist, a card flickered garnet with pulsing energy. "_Personne vous blessera._" He gathered her to him "_Pas toujours encore._"  
Eyes closed against her father's shoulder, Cayanne whispered, "For you, _Papa, J'égalise ceci." _Then, to Xavier, "_Faites votre plus mauvais. Je suis en ayant peur!"_  
Xavier stared at the glowing card, suddenly aware of Remy's fierce protectiveness and deep devotion to the girl.  
His garnet eyes were fierce as the Cajun met the telepath's gaze.  
With a soft sigh, Xavier closed his eyes. Without effort, he reached out, but the girl's mind was strongly shielded. A natural shield, powerful enough to hold him out, but he felt her fight down terror as the barriers went down.  
Gently, he scanned her surface mind, finding the roiling emotions, the tightly contolled panic.  
_Do not be afraid. _he was careful to "speak" softly.  
_Not afraid. Get on wit' it. _the reply was swift, shadowed with her fear of manipulation, violation.  
_Someone entered your mind before, Cayanne. Against your will._  
Non! came the terrifed cry. _No!_  
Gently, he warned himself. This is a very deeply buried fear, a trauma much deeper than I can reach in one session. _Show me what happened, Cayanne. Show me what hurt you._  
Terror. Need. Hunger.  
**Feed.**  
Her mind flinched away from him, away from the memory....

Cold metal walls, seen through liquid.  
Voices speaking.  
Rage.  
"....not responsive..."  
"...what happened with...?"  
"....anti-bonding....what _is _it....?"  
_Feed!_  
Screams. Soulless husks falling, cracking and disintigrating.  
Devouring.  
Hunger.  
Rage.  
Pain.  
Intense pain.  
Horror and pain.  
Need...  
"...that's a good girl...." a voice dipped in syrup, devoid of conciounce or humanity.  
_Feed._  
_ No!_  
Running.  
_La Mauvaise Chose._  
Blood. Dripping from the walls, from her hands, coating her in a sticky warmth.  
Chains.  
Bodies.  
Fear.  
Rage.  
Something moving.  
_La Mauvaise Chose...La Mauvaise Chose!_  
It was on her trail. It knew her. She knew it. They were the same. They were one.  
She ran.

Xavier withdrew from the tormented memory as gently as he could.  
Cayanne trembled, teeth gritted, silent, against her father's shoulder.  
Remy held her, the card dimming and finally vanishing. "_Il est tou'exact, mon petit amour courageux. C'est tou'exact. Je suis ici. Vous êtes sûr._" he murmured, rocking her gently.  
Xavier leaned back in his chair, realizing suddenly he was shaking. The horror of it all was it's reality. She had experianced it. But she had been too young to fully comprehend what was happening to her. He had no such luxury.  
"I take her upstairs." said Remy, quietly. His eyes were shadowed. "I busy until she wake up. _Comprenez? _Remy don' care if de whole world go to war, he stay with his daughter." He glanced up at Marie, who came around to support him on the left side.  
"We're both busy." she said, and they were gone.  
"Somethin' happened to th' kid." said Logan, his voice almost startling his companions.  
"I think she was experimented on." Xavier's voice was deep with regret. "And I think she was concious through it."  
A flicker of sympathy - even empathy - danced in the eyes of the mutant known as Wolverine, and the others could only stare at one another, uncomprehending of the cruelty of their fellow man.

Cayanne woke the next morning in her father's arms. He was asleep, face tense even in repose, and she had several choice words for herself at her emotional display.  
_You not a baby 'nymore. _she scolded herself. _All dis over a stupid nightmare. You needa grow up._  
A gentle brush against her mind, like a question in the air, but no-one invaded her mind.  
_What you want? _she asked, cautiously.  
_It's Jean. Breakfast is ready, are you going to be joining us? _Friendly and warm, as though it was an everyday thing to be bouncing thoughts around for other people to hear.  
_Dunno. I ask _Papa. she replied. The warm pesence left with the equivilent of a pat on the arm, and she lay still, watching her father sleep. Marie was curled in another chair, her silver lock pale in the morning sun.  
_Dey make good couple. _she thought, feeling a flush of warmth. _She make _Papa _happy. _Papa _make her happy._  
"_Papa?" _she kept her voice soft. If he was exausted, she had no intention of waking him this early.  
His eyes opened, and his smile was warm and loving. "Better, _mon petit amour courageux?_" he asked.  
"_Oui._" she grinned mischeviously. "But we missin' breakfast!"

Cayanne tore through a plate of pancakes, two eggs, and a few pieces of bacon in the span of less than half an hour, then settled back with a contented sigh. _"Bon repas. Celui qui le font cuire, font encore!_"  
Jean grinned. "We are going to get along famously, Cayanne. At last, someone who _appriciates _my cooking!" she mock sulked.  
Scott swallowed his bite of ham the wrong way and went into a coughing fit.  
Logan swatted him on the back, almost sending him face-first into the plate, and Remy started to laugh despite himself.  
Cayanne leaned forward and regarded the Canadian mutant. "Watch dat, he might lose control o' himself and act'lly eat a few bites t'day." Her referance to Scott's absent-minded eating habits made even Logan grin, especially with the girl's impish delivery.  
Scott gave the girl a mock scowl. "Is that any way to talk to your English teacher?" he asked, pretending hurt.  
"_Non. _Is way to talk to man about to get in big trouble with wife, though." grinned Cayanne.  
Remy started laughing all over again. Marie joined him, with the others unable to keep grins off their faces.  
Xavier heard all the commotion, and despite himself, smiled warmly.  
There was hope.  
If only they could protect Cayanne a bit longer.

Translation from the Cajun (French)

_Ne dites pas ce nom en ma présence! _- Do not say that name in my presence!  
_Damnez-le! N'essayez pas cela sur moi!_ - Damn it! Don't try that on me!  
_Tueur d'ordinateur de secours _- Ghost Killer  
_vous pourrait avoir été détruit! _ - you could have been killed!  
_Laissez-moi partir, damnez-vous! _- Let me go, damn you!  
_Qu'arrive à moi?_ - What's happening to me?  
_Personne vous blessera. _- No-one will hurt you.  
_Pas toujours encore. _- Not ever again.  
_J'égalise ceci. _- I do even this.  
_Faites votre plus mauvais. Je suis en ayant peur! _ - Do your worst. I'm through being afraid!  
_La Mauvaise Chose _- The Bad Thing  
_Il est tou'exact, mon petit amour courageux. C'est tou'exact. Je suis ici. Vous êtes sûr _- It's all right, my brave little love. It's all right. I'm here. You're safe.  
_Bon repas. Celui qui le font cuire, font encore!_ - Good meal. Whoever cooked, do it again!

Translations from Japanese


	7. Return

**_CAJUN CINNAMON_**  
**Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle  
**  
Chapter VI  
**"****_Return"  
_**  
****_Daddy, Daddy_  
_ Please don't cry_  
_ Don't be scared_  
_ I still belive that men can fly.  
_  
_ I see your tears,_  
_ But you don't see mine_  
_ Oh believe, don't you see?_  
_ I need you so much to love me.  
_  
****** - **The Mad Techie

Cayanne found herself less wary around Miss Munroe, and also found that sometimes studying was sometimes a grand distraction. She lay sprawled on the carpet in the library, munching on an apple. After three lectures on metabolizing sugar, she had finally agreed to eat more, though her tastes ran more to fruit than candy.  
Surrounded by books, luxuriating in the delightful not-quite-musty smell of their pages, she was happily ensconced in a wide-ranging tale of myth and legend. Occasionally she would absently sketch in the brand-new sketchpad that had been waiting for her in the classroom, enjoying the scrape of her new pencil against the grain of the page, just for the idle fun of it.  
Students occasionally wandered in to get a book for class or for a paper, but mostly she was left alone.  
Until she felt a presence. Near the door outside, it left an almost metallic tang in her mouth, and she sat up sharply, aware of movement, a low voice. Poking her head out the door, she saw a man half-encased in metal, his face turned away from her.  
"You new?" she asked.  
The newcomer had drawn a gun - a rather large thing for the quiet of the mansion - and Cayanne had dropped to a crouch.  
He regarded her a moment with unreadable, icy eyes then said, "No. I live here. Occasionally."  
"Nice to know. Better watch dat trigger finger, you hurt someone slow_. Non?"_  
He stared at her as though trying to analyze her, and she grinned ferally.  
"You gotta name, or ya jus' stompin' through?" the girl asked, watching him carefully.  
"Cable."  
"Dat not a name. Dat where you get HBO. Let try dis again." she suggested, eyes on his. "My name's Cayanne LeBeau. Yer's?"  
"Nathan." he grunted, obviously expecting her to fade back into the woodwork. Grudgingly, he continued, "Nathan Summers."  
"Oh. Must be Scott's kid." she nodded, as though seeing someone old enough to be their father's father was an everyday occurrence.  
He stared at her, and she stared back.  
"Well, it _obvious, _isn't it?" the young Cajun asked, grinning.

When Scott came down the stairs, he almost did a double take when he found Nathan and Cayanne deeply engrossed in a game of Stratego.  
"WHAM! No more China, look like you in for a hard time." chuckled Cayanne, leaning back in the chair as her opponent examined the board.  
Jean almost ran into her husband, who raised a finger to his lips, pointing wildly at their son.  
Cable drummed his fingers against the hardwood, and Cayanne grinned as she waited.  
"You just lost Cuba." he growled.  
"Yay. Got China and de whole Russia! Bring 't on!" she challenged, receiving one of Cable's piercing gazes in answer.  
Cayanne grinned, meeting that icy regard with great good humor. "Don' get yer boxers inna knot, dis a _game._" She reached over, rested a hand on his, sensed his startlement. "Games supp'sed be fun, Nathan - dis de point. You play a good game. I sneak up on ya 'cause you take it too serious." The girl grinned, cocking her head to stare up at him. "_Appelez ceci une aspiration, mieux deux sur trois?_"  
He regarded her and lifted one eyebrow questioningly.  
She smiled again. "Dis one a freebie. Two outta three?"  
Despite himself, Cable returned the grin. "You have yourself a deal."

Althea was fond of working out. Not due to any sense of discipline or self-betterment, but due to the fact that her enhanced strength and extraordinary body made her male fellow students watch her with undisguised intrest.  
Denise was already in the fitness center, running on one of the myriad machines, but the young woman saw movement in the gymnasium. With a quick nod to her friend, she made her way down the hallway and to the open stairwell above the main gym, and froze, watching with fascination.  
On the floor, a lone figure clad in what appeared to be a floor-length black skirt and white shirt moved with blinding speed. Every movement controlled, every step chosen, it was almost too fast to be fully perceived.  
The man appeared to be totally focused, an outward appearance of calm, yet moved with the speed and grace of a pouncing cat.  
Unconsciously, her tounge drew across her lips.  
In the moments she saw him moving, she decided he would her's.

Cayanne ignored television for the most part, since the huge proportion of it was, in her opinion, drivel. However, the sheer fun of cartoons charmed her and occasionally she woke up at four or five in the morning, jiggling the mansion's satellite controls to get a channel worth watching.  
Sprawled on the couch, legs over the side, she watched with amusement as the three little pigs made short work of the dim-witted, if stubborn, wolf. A half-filled bowl of peanuts and spices was at her elbow, and occasionally she popped one of the treats into her mouth. When the cartoon ended, the girl rose, rolled over, and got to her feet.  
Stretching, she glanced around carefully, listened for any movement. Finally satisfied, she reached inside her pocket and withdrew an audio tape. Popping it into the stereo's cassette player, she let the music wash over her.  
Cayanne let her body move to the sound, her feet to the rhythm. To her, there was nothing else in the world as she moved with fluid grace and unfettered passion around the room, letting the emotion take her.  
Her voice was soft and hypnotic, rich with history, for that was the song she sang. New Orleans, from the streetwalker with aching hands and broken heart that stood with empty eyes at the end of the Quarter to the rich boy who came to visit her, from the passion of the _voudoun_ and their primal wisdom, to the passions to the hidden lonlinesses, the song defined and focused New Orleans.  
When the music stopped, she heard a soft voice. "Beautiful."  
The girl spun around, defensively, snatching the cassette from the player.  
Professor Xavier was in the doorway, his expression gentle, even a little awed. "That was truly amazing, Cayanne."  
"Dey mine." she growled, watching him with narrowed eyes. "My music, my dance." Unconsciously, the girl had straightened, feeling a sense of disquiet. This was her own, deeply private and special secret. Only her _Papa _knew. She was hesitant to share it.  
"You wrote the music?" Xavier folded his hands, eyes warm and kind.  
A little less defensive, Cayanne nodded slowly. "Dat not somethin' I want t' tell ever'one." She managed a grin. "Gotta a reputation, ya see. Only've shown_ Papa - _he love music too."  
"I assure you, I shall tell no-one." Xavier's smile was almost paternal.  
Cayanne shrugged, but in her mind, the Professor inched up a notch in her estimation.

_Appelez ceci une aspiration, mieux deux sur trois? _- Call this a draw, best two out of three?  



	8. Interlude Home

HOME

_This is another little interlude, just Stryfe and a certain character of my own. To be continued in _Cajun Cinnamon,  
Part Seven!

It was so easy to step into the perimeter. How quickly they forgot - I _am _a clone. Their precious security recognized me as my brother. It was strange that they never thought of that. Lax. Often, that brought death.  
Or worse.  
I was not wearing what they would have expected. Not the armor. Not the helm. Instead, I had chosen simple attire - loose clothing that would enable swift movement.  
It was habit, really. Only my - parents - and brother were at home. And the Professor, of course.  
Curious. His mind was questing again, searching. So, Xavier recovered his paltry power again, did he...?  
Ah, but that is not fair. I had underestimated him before, to my chagrin. One does not bear the mantle "world's most powerful telepath" lightly.  
I passed each checkpoint with ease, cautious to ensure that the scans were but skin deep.  
The deeper ones I flicked aside, carefully, and proceeded on.  
I was perhaps fortunate that Wolverine was not there. Of all the X-Men, he would be quickest to sense my presence.  
"Evenin', you comin' in or plannin' to lurk out here all de night t'ru?"  
I almost jumped. Instead I turned, and had to look down.  
Clad in a threadbare trenchcoat, shirt, and jeans, wearing old boots, the eyes that met mine were most unusual. Black with a flare of crystal-blue-silver marking the center, they resembled the Cajun member of the X-Men. A girl. A_...girl?_  
"Name's Cayanne." she stuck out her hand, as though I was any visitor, any man coming to her door.  
I took it with some trepidation. One greeted unknown mutants with care.  
"I am..."  
"Nathan's brother_, oui_?" she grinned up at me, unafraid. "Resemblance is there."  
I could not decide for the life of me whether the creature was mad or simply hopelessly naive.  
"You know of me." I let the statement hang in the air.  
"Hard not to, you in de database. An' two of ya here - well, dat unusual, even for dis madhouse."  
"Madhouse?" There, she had done it. I had no idea where this was leading.  
She ticked off on her fingers. "Guy who shoot lasers from eyes, mind readers, flying people, dis all new." Another grin. "New_, oui?"_  
"I am well aware of the powers inherent in mutancy." Why did I not simply mindwipe the girl and carry on my errand?  
She closed one eye, placing one finger on the side of her nose. "You got a sense o' humor, dis a good thing." A pause. "You here to see your_ parents et frère_, or jus' wandering around inna funk?"  
"I am Stryfe." I said it as coldly as I could.  
She burst out laughing. I stared at her.  
"You make trouble?" Her voice was not soft and cautious, like so many women I knew, it was rich and filled with a kind of passion I....envied. "_Grand! Nous sommes beaucoup semblables, puis!_"  
I realized my mouth was hanging open and closed it quickly. "I don't think you realize...."  
"Sure I do." Her gaze captured me. I could not look away. "You spend whole life makin' trouble so your family come fix it_, oui_? Dat way, at least you not alone."  
Ice rose in me, and I glared at her. The idea was....insane!  
"I am not an emotional cripple, needing the approval of one who abandoned me!" Who was I arguing with?  
"Den why you here?"  
The ice cracked. The old familiar rage did not hold, scrabbling frantically for purchase in the tatters of my soul.  
"Look, you come sit with me_, oui_? We talk, play cards?" Her grin was oddly warming. "You c'n always blast me later."  
She reached out, took my hand, and I stood there, staring at her as though she had suddenly grown a second head.  
"Your family, dey sleep now." Her eyes were impish. "We raid de fridge. Got all sorts of goodies in dere." She grinned. "You tell me why you here, maybe you understand better."  
She did have a point. Oddly enough.  
Cayanne had not dropped my hand, I realized. Her grip was not soft, but it was warm. I found myself unwilling to let go as well, much as that surprised me.  
"You tell me 'bout where you come from?" she asked, as we walked up the trail.  
"The future." Ice and rage. Coldness holding my heart. Emptiness. Nothingless.  
She stared up at me a moment. "Not a good future, den?"  
"No."  
The girl sighed. "Ever'thing changes de moment de future meets de past, I 'magine." she commented.  
"What?" I was confused again. That was most....unsettling.  
"T'ink about it. You not been abandoned, you not been born. You born later, so you not abandoned now." Her head cocked, thoughtful. "Maybe you take chance to change t'ings. Not have chance like dat often."  
"You are a strange child."  
"You call me chile again and I punch you." she warned.  
Time to call this odd youngster out. "You are a child...."  
WHAM!  
The pain in my midriff was notable. I doubled over unconsciously as the girl stood back, fist still cocked.  
We stared at one another.  
The ice cracked.  
Just a bit.  
The oddest thing happened then. Perhaps the strangest thing I had ever encountered.  
I_ liked _her.  
She offered me her hand again, and I took it almost without thinking.  
"I read 'bout you." she said, as though nothing had happened. "But dat just words. You tell me your side. _Oui?"_  
"As you like."  
"You know how to play cards?" her voice was mischievous.  
"No." It seemed rather a useless pursuit for a future conqueror of worlds.  
"Good! I teach you!" her tug pulled me closer to the Mansion.  
Despite my resolve, despite my turmoil, I felt the unsettling urge to turn and leave. This was, after all, the X-Men's home base. I was unarmed, and they would likely not be trusting.  
"Dis new to me too, ya know. And I got an idea."  
"Do you."  
"_Oui_. Since you not here to cause trouble, I got idea. Stryfe is trouble, so I call you Rafe. Good name, _non?_" She grinned. "Ever'one deserves a first name, not just an adjective."  
I stared at her. A name? I was Stryfe. Cold. Ice. Nothingless.  
Stryfe.  
No.  
The beginning. I had sworn that.  
Rafe?  
"Where did you get that name...chi...."  
Her fist was balled up in her fingerless gloves, and an eyebrow cocked in my direction.  
"Cayanne." I conceded.  
"Rafe? Your name. Stryfe, before. An' Raphael. De angel of changes. _C'est un nom très bon. Costumes vous._"  
Indeed. The ice - was cracking.  
I felt a stab of unfamiliar fear. I was afraid.  
There, I admitted it.  
I was afraid of losing myself.  
"I t'ink, sometimes you have to let yourself go t' find out where yer goin'. _Oui? _Like.....like a fire."  
"What?" My emotions were roiling in a painful mass, tightening my throat. My voice revealed nothing. I was relived.  
"A fire. It start, has boundary." She drew a line in the air, shrugged. "Den it breathe for a while. Learn to like de air. De world. It burn. Bright. Den, there no more need for boundary. Fire burn because it can. Warm because it can. Not 'cause of physics. Nice idea, but not de truth. _Oui? _Math not make birds sing, or fire burn."  
Shards of ice shattered. Piercing me. Tearing at me. I kept my face immobile. I showed nothing.  
The ice was falling.  
Whatever I was, lurked within.  
"Rafe." I said it thoughtfully, drawing it out on my tounge. It felt...right. "Very well, then."  
"_Très bon!_" Her grin embraced me and her eyes sparkled with life. "Come den, _mon ami! _I make you a smoothie that will make yer tastebuds do de tango!"  
The door to the kitchen opened. There was light, warm and golden, that spilled into the night.  
I drew all that I was about me, tattered and worn, stepped inside.  
And a single thought occured to me.  
Could this be...truly...ever...  
Home?

parents et frère - parents and brother  
Grand! Nous sommes beaucoup semblables, puis! - Great! We're much alike, then!  
C'est un nom très bon. Costumes vous. - It is a very good name. Suits you.


	9. Challenge Met

**_CAJUN CINNAMON_**  
**Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle  
**  
Chapter VII  
**_"Challenge Met"  
_**  
Cayanne led Stryfe into the warmly-lit kitchen, and immediately set to gathering a series of fruits and a few vegetables, while indicating a chair with her free hand.  
"Dis a _real _drink." she said, grinning over her shoulder at him.  
"What, may I ask, is in it?"  
The girl glanced back. "Secret recipe." was the only reply, but so mischievous was her expression that he raised an eyebrow in reply.  
There was the distinctive sound of a blender, ice being poured, and a whining creak as the old machine struggled with the concoction.  
After a few seconds, she came back with two glasses filled with something that looked like a cross between liquid bubblegum and fresh algae.  
Stryfe looked down at it as if he expected it to suddenly leap for his throat.  
Cayanne turned the other chair around and sat down next to him, shoving a straw in his then her own drink.  
"Don' tell me a big strong mutant like ya is afraid of a little smoothie?" she asked, eyes innocently wide.  
He returned her gaze, trying for a cold look and unaware of how far it failed. "Certainly not."  
"Good den. Drink up!" And she popped the straw in her mouth.  
Stryfe's expression was bland as he followed suit - until the first taste hit his tounge. It was almost comical how startled pleasure at something so simple as a drink flickered briefly on his face.  
"Good, _oui?_"  
"Quite...unusual." he managed, taking another large swallow.  
"Don' tell me _subtlety _is onna yer many gifts?" She grinned up at him.  
They stared at one another.  
She was clearly waiting for him to begin.  
He frowned, stirring the straw about in the glass, deep in thought.  
"It is...a very complex situation." he finally said.  
Cayanne nodded understanding.  
Stryfe took a few more moments, then began. "I was created, not born." His eyes flickered briefly with strong emotion, then icy nothingless, then back to something deep and open, in one brief moment. "I am a clone, created in case my dear brother did not survive." The bitterness did not show, save in the ice of his voice.  
"Dat de only reason?" asked the girl, resting a hand lightly on his.  
He stared at her. Then, almost harshly, "What other reason could there be?"  
"Maybe your _Papa _and _Mama _want you too."  
Stryfe snorted, unconsciously waving one hand dismissively. "I was abandoned to function as a back-up plan, no more, no less." His eyes were shadowed. "Abandoned to be raised by Apocalypse."  
"He de one wit' the big mouth and snotty attitude?"  
Her companion stared at her. "I have never heard him described in that manner." he replied, a trifle startled.  
"Maybe you need hear dat, den. I read about him in de database." Her gaze turned secretive. "But you not tell anyone, _bien_? Dey not know I go lookin' for stuff."  
Stryfe brought one hand up to the back of his neck, rubbing absent-mindedly.  
"He reared me to be a conqueror." stated the future-born mutant, flatly.  
She cocked her head. "Ya mean he used ya?" her voice was thoughtful.  
"It seems so." His hand clenched under her's. "I was to be his next - heir."  
"Dat not sound like a good thing."  
"No. He would have required my body, not my - self."  
"Oh. Dat sound like him." she nodded, sagely.  
"What do you mean?" A slight tremor of emotion pierced his normally smooth, expressionless voice.  
"Guy not even know himself, so he t'ink it okay to run roughshod over any'ne to get his way. Sound like he clingin' to his survival, not want admit he's scared o' bitin' the bullet, same as ever'one else."  
He stared.  
She stared back, popping her eyes comically wide.  
"He use you, bounce everyone all ov'r de place, nearly kill ever'one - you maybe got left behind same reason lot o' kids do."  
"And what _reason_ is that?" Stryfe's eyes were narrowed dangerously.  
"'Cause dey just happen'd to get born." She shrugged. "Take look on de street one day. You find a thousand kids just as lost and 'bandoned as you. 'Cept they don't got super-powers or nuthin' to save dem." Her gaze tipped upwards, meeting him. "You not 'bandoned. 'Bandoned people don't get 'membered. Dey just get forgot, which is a lot worse. You ever t'ink maybe you go lookin' for fights maybe 'cause you feelin' just as lost?"  
His whole body stiffened, head coming up to regard her with deadly calm. "I was left in a hellhole to be raised by a madman. That hardly compares!" he snapped.  
"No?" Her gaze held his, unwavering and full of fire. "You lissen, Mr. I-Am-De-Only-Alone-Person-Out-Dere-Who-Got-'Bandoned. I know girl once dat lived t'ru a hell. You t'ink dere only one?" She waved an arm, eyes burning. "No. Her own - _père_ - he certainly no _Papa, _make her pregnant. Den he throw her out for his new girlfriend. She eleven years old. You unnerstand words? _Eleven. _She on de street two years, have a baby to take care of. She work de streets. Family - _ma famille _- take in. Too late for her. She have - what is word now? - AIDS." Her gaze did not relent, and again, for some reason, he could not look away. "She die. Slow. Baby, he live. Where home for baby? With family. But he have no _mama _to raise him. You understand? Not abandoned. She die. He alone. Cruel world, kind people. People make choices. World just is." The girl's gaze was thoughtful. "You not born to die, or to be 'bandoned, Rafe. Just born. Not matter how. Just _born." _Her voice brooked no argument. "And you get hurt. Left alone. Dat terrible t'ing, _oui? _But den you _choose _be alone. Dat your choice. You make," She struggled for the words. "You make circle. Now, are you 'lone 'cause of bein' left, or 'lone 'cause you make it be?"  
Stryfe's voice was completely without emotion. "Does it matter?"  
She stared up into his eyes. "Dunno. I jus' another mutant in dis joint, Rafe. Nothin' special, no good power." Her shrug was self-depreciating. "Jus' listen. An' I listen'. You got choice. I stay yer friend. If ya want?"  
There. She had done it again. Caught him off-guard. It was an open, willing vulnerability. He could choose, walk away or remain.  
He leaned back in the chair and stared at her. "Your powers include...?" he left it hanging, while his hand, very awkwardly, tightened on her's.  
"Dunno." she shrugged. "Not sure. Not matter much. I here for _Papa, _he ask, I come."  
Stryfe's entire world was teetering dangerously in his mind. On either side, lurked madness, terror. But he felt - strangely enough - no rage at words he would at one time have found the height of insolence, only a kind of distant ache.  
Cayanne, for her part, held his hand gently. "Jus' in case ya haven't noticed, you not alone no more."

When Jean Grey sent her mind idly wandering, she never expected it to bump into the cold distance of  
_"Stryfe_!" she gasped, aloud, bringing her husband instantly awake.

Cayanne turned reflexively when Cyclops, Jean, and a man she didn't know all struggled past one another - the door became a rather tight fit - followed closely by Hank and Professor Xavier.  
"Stryfe!" growled Scott, his visor blazing with contained energy.  
"_Non!_" cried the girl, launching herself to stand between her teacher and friend.  
Stryfe's normally smooth voice held an undeniable tone of bitterness. "I should have known this would be the answer." he spat, hands coming down to rest on Cayanne's thin shoulders. "So be it."  
And with a nearly-silent sound of inrushing air, the two were gone.

Cayanne felt the world come back together, and stared around in unabashed curiosity. It seemed to be a simple townhouse, well-decorated. But on closer examination - and a glance outside the window - she realized that it was a military base. The silence and stillness made her realize it was likely an abandoned one.  
"Dis yer place, Rafe?" she asked, looking up at him.  
"For the time being, yes." he replied, one hand still on her shoulder.  
"Not much o' a home, dis joint." the girl observed, falling in step with him.  
"It provides me with my needs."  
"Most o' dem, I t'ink." she replied, looking around at the Spartan austerity.  
He nodded serenely.  
"What we do now?"  
Stryfe realized abruptly he had no idea.

Gambit was on the verge of hitting someone over the head. Hard. With a very heavy object. Repeatedly.  
"He just _take _her_?!" _he demanded, voice rising with his outrage.  
"Easy, Gumbo." said Logan, who had re-appeared only a few minutes after Stryfe had vanished.  
"Easy?!! _Easy??!! _" Gambit's voice was shaking with his fury. "Dat maniac, he have Gambit's _daughter!!! Êtes-vous hors de votre ESPRIT?!!_"  
Scott jumped in with, "We'll find him. And we'll rescue Cayanne...."  
Jean was concentrating, struggling to reach the young Cajun telepathically, while they argued.  
Marie had her hand on Gambit's shoulder, her own expression fierce. "We have to get her back! Ahm not gonna stand by and let Stryfe hurt her!" she added, voice tense with anger.

_...Whaaa? _Cayanne "heard" the emotion - fear/anger/questioning - as it touched her mind.  
_Cayanne! It's Jean! Where are you? What happened?_  
_Paintin'. _was her simple reply. And she was. The drab military-issue tan-white was now hidden under a light blue, and she regarded her work with some pride. A little paint, some furniture moving, and a bit of imagination had transformed the soulless room into an inviting haven. Now if she could just find some books...  
_Êtes-vous tout droit? Où êtes-vous? _The emotion-voice was her father's.  
_Rafe's place. What de matter wit de others? He come to talk and dey nearly attack him! _Her own tones were a bit annoyed.  
There was a long silence.  
_Cayanne, he dangerous. _Gambit sent back. _He..._  
_He alone in a really ugly room right now. Been paintin'. He talkin' to someone. Dey argue. I figure, not my business. _Oui  
Jean's voice re-entered the conversation. _We're on our way, sweetheart!_  
_Well, dis time try talk before shoot!  
_  
"He hasn't hurt her." said Jean, her expressive eyes sympathetic as she rested a hand on Gambit's arm. "In fact, she seems to have the run of his - base."  
Scott stared at her. "What is he up to?" he asked, more to himself than anyone.

Cayanne found the kitchen almost by accident. It was old, most of the equipment was rusty, but she made due as best she could. It took some searching, but she found the makings of a salad in the noisy, yellowed refrigerator. Though she had to climb up on the dingy counter, the girl found some old glasses - marked with "US Marine Corps" - and a set of slightly bent silverware.  
A rat stared out at her from it's hiding place far back in the corner, and she left it a piece of cheese.  
Then she set out to find Stryfe.  
Unable to locate him, Cayanne put both hands to her mouth and roared, "SOUP'S ON!"  
He appeared moments later, clad in a t-shirt and sweatpants, eliciting a chuckle from his young companion. In those clothes, he looked so _normal._  
"Food." she said, around the cheddar currently in her mouth.  
Stryfe's expression was nothing short of amazement. "You made lunch?" he blurted out, staring at the salads on the table.  
"More like supper, gettin' late." she observed, grinning. "Now be a good boy an' eat up. Dis place not exactly have a big selection."

"Stryfe's base is in Alabama." said Jean, rubbing her temples absently. "Cayanne is all right..."  
"Gambit want to know _why _Stryfe take her." said the tall Cajun, from where he stood. If not for Marie standing directly behind him, he would have bolted for the door and started out to find his daughter on his own.  
Xavier's expression was thoughtful. "I sensed no hostility toward her from Stryfe...." he began.  
"He's up to something." said Scott, pausing in his pacing. "He always is."

Stryfe looked over the battered cards in his hand and regarded the girl across from him expressionlessly.  
"I call." he said, dryly.  
"Flush!" responded Cayanne, gleefully slapping her own cards down on the table. Picking up the pencil next to her right hand, she tapped the tip lightly on her lower lip, then grinned impishly. "Dat upwards o' two thousand you owe me now, Rafe. Wanna play again, or we settle now?"  
He lifted an eyebrow in reply, trying to appear unconcerned. In truth, he was curious as to what she would demand in payment of the debt.  
"Lessee...." she considered. "We say, you owe me a favor, dat one half. _Bien_?"  
"Done." Stryfe waved his hand dismissively.  
"Other half, you pay now. We go dance." Cayanne completed, rubbing her hands together.  
Stryfe's mouth actually fell open a centimeter. _"What_?" he demanded, hands on the table.  
"You know how to dance?" her expression was gleeful.  
"It - was never considered an important skill." admitted the older mutant.  
_"_Is important." Cayanne emphasized her comment with a sharp, chopping gesture. "I teach you, here. Den we go. Have fun." She indicated the newly-painted walls. "Dis place get old after a while."

Scott was positive Stryfe was planning something. He had finally sought out Nathan, who had finally woke from an exhausted slumber. A quick explanation had his son on his feet and scowling.  
"I don't know why Stryfe took her, but it will fall to us to get her back." Cable stated, as they entered Xavier's office. "He will never give up something he believes is his."  
"Cayanne not property." growled Gambit, restrained only by Marie's gentle grip.  
"No. She isn't." Cable replied, earning him a glance from the distraught Cajun.

Cayanne had insisted on going out to buy some music, pointing out that the sophisticated radio equipment Stryfe used was flat. As in emotionless and without the vibrancy needed to dance to it.  
Stryfe was reluctant to let her leave the base, but in the end, he agreed to teleport her to Birmingham.  
"I give a holler when done." she commented, tapping the side of her head.  
"Take these." Stryfe handed her a pair of sunglasses, which she took reluctantly.  
"Cayanne not ashamed of her eyes." she said, staring up at him. "But understand why - not to be noticed_, oui?"_  
"Precisely."  
She sighed, slipping the eyewear over her unique gaze. "Okay. I all incognito. Beam me down, Scotty!" the girl said, grinning.  
Stryfe was not sure he understood the reference, but he did understand the intent.  
Reluctantly, he sent the girl on her way.

Jean's mouth fell open, eyes widening, and everyone turned to regard her with alarm.  
"No...he sent her into town, on an errand..." she began.  
"An _errand_?" Cable made it sound like an alien thing. "Stryfe?"  
"I felt the teleport. Cayanne enjoys it."

Cayanne arrived in a restroom stall, triggering a battle to restrain laughter. It was a good, private place to "land", but the comedic opportunities were endless.  
She opened the door, smiling innocently at the frazzled mother trying to hang onto a pair of squirming toddlers, and exited the facility, walked down the hallway, and made a left.  
The mall was busy at the moment, people hurrying from store to store, and Cayanne had to dodge around people as she made her way to the mall map.  
Drawing her finger down the outline of corridors, she found Blockbuster's, but another music store, Ashland's, caught her eye. It was past the Food Court and near a fountain, so she set off at a cheerful stride, arriving at her destination five minutes later.  
Browsing, she found several good prospects, tossing them absently into a hand-basket she found at the entrance.  
"Lord of the Dance" and "Feet of Flames" were two she decided on, adding an album with the original "Lord of the Dance" by a Gaelic group. She picked up the first CD she found by "Happy Hardcore", three zydeco CDs by groups she had known well in New Orleans, two classical CDs (Wagner and Debussy) and last but not least a final selection by a jazz group (also from New Orleans).  
She also found copies of the videos "Lord of the Dance" and "Feet of Flames", and even one of "Riverdance: Live from New York", which she could not resist.  
Finding a decent CD player took some searching, but she finally found a "boom box" style that came with a portable CD player (free - ha!), and hoisted it to her shoulder.  
She also picked up a black leather gym-bag, four t-shirts (one for Rafe, of Don Daertha from Lord of the Dance), two pairs of shorts, and a keyring with an anarchy logo.  
Grinning to herself, she dragged her loot up to the counter, finding a button-down shirt covered with painted flames and a stunning example of a Japanese five-toed dragon and a sweatshirt with a fiery anarchy symbol, tossing them in as the bored teen-aged clerk rang her up.  
Chewing his gum frantically, he got out, "That'll be $284.64." He stared down his nose at her, expecting that she would start putting things back at that price.  
Instead, Cayanne pulled out her old leather wallet, counting out twenty-four twenties and a five, then flipping the container shut and returning it to it's hiding place in her trenchcoat.  
The older teen grumbled as he handed over her purchases, acting almost as if he was disappointed.  
Waving jauntily, the girl turned and left. Outside, she spotted a bookstore, and with an internal yell of delight, scooted across the corridor to reader's paradise - Barnes and Noble.

Stryfe was, despite his best efforts to deny it, becoming worried. Cayanne had been gone almost three hours, and he knew well the way sudden danger could arise.  
Reaching out mentally, careful to not invade, he found her gleefully absorbed in book selecting.  
Books?  
He looked around him absently, as though seeking his own library.  
Then decided to give her another hour or so.

Cayanne could never resist a good read. She had picked up another hand-basket - handy things, those - and was rampaging through the store with glee. Even the tellers could not resist a smile at the girl's obvious enthusiasm.  
She had picked up an anthology of William Shakespeare, two books on Japanese, a copy of "The Prince" by Machiavelli (her own copy had long ago fallen apart from reading), a copy of "A Book of Five Rings" bound in leather, an excellent - if somewhat expensive - copy of "The Art of War" by Sun Tzu, also in leather, a compilation of the Marquis de Sade (he had always seemed to be forbidden reading, which raised her curiosity), a book and card set on the tarot (the dragons on the cards caught her eye), four books on mythology (Irish, Voudoun, Japanese, and Egyptian), three books on ancient languages, two books on human anatomy (one for artists), a book of compiled information that was supposedly required of "every well-informed citizen", two books on computer graphics, two on computer programming, one on the Internet, and several on a variety of subjects before even reaching the fiction section.  
In science fiction, she picked out two by Isaac Asimov, a compilation by Anne MacCaffery of her "Dragonriders of Pern" novels, and two by Mercedes Lackey. Then she moved on to pick up the "Henry Potter" series and a leather-bound copy of "The Chronicles of Narnia", by C.S. Lewis.  
She also found a leather backpack embossed with a dragon that simply could not be passed up, and finally made her way up to the counter, snagging a series of computer and graphics magazines on her way.  
"That's an entire library, dear." smiled the clerk, looking over her glasses at the grinning teen-ager.  
"Good investment." replied Cayanne, cheerfully. "I rather read a book den do a lotta stuff."  
The older woman chuckled. "That's an excellent attitude. I bet you do well in school. That's $305.09, dear." she looked a bit concerned.  
Cayanne again withdrew her wallet, scowling when she realized she was nine cents short. Brightening, she handed the woman the money, replaced the wallet, and dug in her pocket until she found the coins from her last purchase. She pushed a dime onto the counter, and the cashier smiled, passing her the huge bag.  
"Have a wonderful day, dear!"  
"You too." replied the teen-ager, hefting her bags.

Cayanne made a last stop in a rather small electronics store called Sandeger's. The prices were reasonable, and she managed to scour out a nice speaker set, a small technician's toolkit in an imitation-leather case, and finally a VCR. Admittedly not the best in the world, she checked the Sony carefully, making sure she could repair it if it decided to be difficult.  
Finally, she chose some wire and a small soldering set and made her way to the front.  
Digging in her inside pocket, she found the money-clip she kept secured there and waited for the total.  
"That's $201.01." said the man, wearily. "Cash or charge?"  
"Cash." said Cayanne, immediately, counting out the money and handing it over. "Not trust credit cards much."

When Stryfe sensed Cayanne's mental touch, he was - though he would likely never admit it - immensely relieved. He reached out, teleporting her - and a considerable weight! - back into the base.  
He could not help but stare as she began to unload her loot.  
"Got ya a t-shirt." she commented, happily, as she resurfaced with the videos. "And a VCR."

The Blackbird was among the fastest aircraft on the planet, and the trip from the Institute to Alabama was far quicker than normal transit could have hoped to accomplish.  
The entire time, Gambit was uncharacteristically quiet. Marie sat next to him, hand in his, her expression worried.  
Jean kept glancing back at them, compassion and concern in her eyes, as Scott handled piloting the jet.  
Logan was slouched in the seat, a frown on his face, clearly as concerned as the others, though his eyes were dark with inner disquiet. He glanced up at Scott once, then back at Gambit, who stared through him with a haunted gaze.  
It was erieely still and silent, the time marked only by the near-silent hum of the engine.

"Rafe, why you go to mansion?" asked Cayanne, pausing in chewing the now-buttered popcorn.  
Stryfe frowned, staring at the screen. Then finally, he said, "It is complex."  
"I not goin' anywhere."  
He sighed softly. "You are determined."  
"Onea my many charms. You not want say?" she looked up at her friend, meeting his gaze with a puzzled one.  
Stryfe shook his head. "It was - a dream."  
Cayanne nodded understanding, her expression encouraging.  
Stryfe's voice was calm and even, but emotion began to slowly leak into the normally cool voice. "I dreamed." He shrugged. "I never had such a luxury." He looked down at his young companion. "But it was unusual in another way. I dreamt that I and my - brother - were children, at a picnic. The sun was warm, there was a lake, cool and not overly deep. Nathan and I kept swimming to the other side, then racing back. We ate a watermelon, spat seeds at one another, and climbed a large old tree to leap into the deeper water. Our fa - Scott would swing us around, then let us fly into the water, but we dunked him under the water when he least expected it...."  
"Den?"  
"Then we watched the clouds - and I woke up."  
"Not a bad dream."  
"I would not know. I do not - did not - dream."  
Cayanne grinned suddenly. "Maybe it time you started." she commented. "Dat Don Daertha." Cayanne pointed out the dark-haired, dark-eyed dancer as he led his evil legion onto the stage. Clad in black, he stared out over his minions with a smouldering gaze. "See? He in control of dere movement, and his own. Not just de antithesis of de hero, de Lord o' de Dance, but his other side - de dark, mysterious, deadly lord of de underworld battling against one who interfered in his plans." She grinned. "But no Lord o' de Dance, life get boring for ol' Don Daertha. I t'ink he welcome de challenge."  
The teen-ager passed the popcorn she had scrounged to her companion, leaning back against the old sofa, grinning up at him.  
Stryfe glanced down at her, and a faint, almost new expression crossed his face - a slight smile.  
"Call de medic - yer face may fall off!" Cayanne's voice was filled with laughter, as she leaned over to give him a brief hug.  
It was then she felt strange, throbbing, warm, almost-sensation in her mind, the distinctive signature of her very worried father - warmth/scent of smouldering embers/soothing presence that made her smile.  
"My_ Papa _is here!" she told Stryfe, bolting up into a sitting position.  
"The X-Men." murmured her friend, eyes flickering with inner fire.

"This way." growled Wolverine, pausing in the tunnel. He scented cinnamon and ice, and knew he was on the right trail.  
Cyclops was right behind him, with Gambit bringing up the rear. Jean and Rogue were floating above them, watching for any traps and/or minions that might attack.  
It was erieely silent, darkly distant.  
Wolverine saw nothing moving, and kept advancing silently, pausing occasionally to make sure Scott and Remy didn't fall behind.  
"X-Men." It was part epithet, part cold greeting.  
Logan noted the scentlessness and translucence of the speaker, and was immediately aware that it was a psychic projection.  
Remy's low curse was followed with Scott saying harshly, "Stryfe."  
The figure made a little mock-bow toward them. "Welcome to my humble home." he said, coldly. "To what do I owe the honor?"  
"Where Cayanne, damn you?" snarled Gambit, a glowing card in his hand.  
Logan picked up a distinctive scent and was opening his mouth to warn the others when a voice broke through Stryfe's tones.  
"Hi, guys!" Cayanne waved at them from the end of the hallway, a flashlight in her hand. "Sorry 'bout de light, blew de fuse a few minutes ago. Who knew VCR draw so much power?"  
Remy charged up to his daughter, wrapping his arms around her and lifting the startled girl off the ground.  
"AWK! Cnntbrth!" she got out, clearly indicating a lack of air.  
Gambit loosened his grip, but firmly stepped in front of the teen-ager, standing nose-to-nose with the Stryfe-image.  
"Rafe - hit dat left fuse, give a good wallop, think I fixed the lights!" called Cayanne, and a moment later the lights flickered on.  
Stryfe stepped around the corner, and everyone tensed - with the noticeable exception of the teen-ager, who bounded forward, grabbed the tall mutant's hand, and dragged him forward. "He want join up. We leave now?" she inquired, unaware of the fact the Scott was sputtering incoherently.  
Logan had straightened from his crouch, and wordlessly advanced to stand near the X-Men's discomfited leader.  
"He what?" asked Jean, setting down next to her distressed husband.  
Cayanne rolled her eyes in frustration, leaning back against the wall. "Stryfe not want to cause it. Strife I mean. He come to join up. You charge in, he leave. Well, we start over. _Bein?_"  
Scott stared at her. "We...Cayanne, this is _not _a game!" he managed.  
Cayanne laughed. "No. But we all go back t'gether. _Bein?"_  
Remy had a protective arm around his daughter, and was staring at Stryfe uncertainly.  
Jean had a hand on Scott's shoulder as she stepped forward, staring into Stryfe's steady gaze, then back at Cayanne and finally back at her husband. Their expressions clearly showed their shared bond of love and understanding, then Scott looked back at Stryfe.  
Finally, "Logan?"  
The Canadian had out a trademark cigar and absently lit it, then shrugged expressively.  
Cayanne grinned. "Nathan gonna be _surprised!_" she crowed, triumphantly.


	10. Homefires Burning

**_CAJUN CINNAMON_**  
**Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle  
**  
Chapter VIII  
**_"Homefires Burning"  
_**  
Cayanne enjoyed the near-silent rumble of the Blackbird's engines. They distracted from the illusion of free flight, but comforted with the sotto purr they produced. Curled between her father and Marie, she heard the quiet voices of the adults flow around her.  
Rafe had been kind enough to bring the results of her shopping on board, and had settled in the seat to the rear, next to Logan. His unreadable gaze was focused outside the window, on something the others didn't see.  
The teen-ager closed her eyes, concentrating on the gentle rocking of the jet, the distant thrumm of engines, the quiet tones of Scott and Jean, the baritone rumble of Hank's expressive voice.  
Though she was loathe to let herself drift into sleep, her father's arm around her and the comforting presence of Marie made it difficult to stay awake.  
She looked up once, into the eyes of the man everyone else referred to as Stryfe. He turned to regard her, and she grinned up at him, eyes sparkling with fondness.  
His expression flickered once, showing a mix of affection and concern, then was once more still and unreadable as stone.  
The girl snuggled down against her father's side, and finally let sleep claim her.

Althea enjoyed nothing more than demonstrating her superior strength to the boys in her class. By virtue of her mutation, she could lift half a ton, and fly with it several yards. Even the strongest of men couldn't match her in physical powress, and she loved it.  
She dropped the weight and paused to hover in front of Zane, who was perched in the bleachers alongside Liam.  
He ignored her, rested a hand on Liam's shoulder. They returned to their conversation as though the older mutant didn't exist.  
The young woman snorted, glaring darkly at the shorter, slighter boy. To her, Liam was a rather noisesome example of the worst mutancy could cause - ugly, deformed, twisted. The sight of his face made her nauseous.  
A crack of thunder and a low whine made her glower outside.  
The jet.  
The X-Men.  
They were back.  
"Cayanne's home!" yelled Zane, bounding down the stairs, Liam on his heels.

Remy watched his daughter start down the Blackbird ramp, then turned back to regard Stryfe, who returned his gaze without emotion, eyes showing nothing.  
The tall Cajun was suddenly aware that the other mutant towered over him - a fact that had never quite registered with him. While the other's height didn't intimidate him, it was a factor in making him aware of Stryfe's age, for whatever reason.  
Gambit shrugged noncommentally, turning to follow the teen-ager, as Logan exited the jet, followed by Jean, then a somewhat bemused Scott.

Cayanne was perched on a chair, a fourth of a sandwich in her hands, when Cable discovered the Stryfe was in the mansion's kitchen. The door crashed open as he roared, _"Stryfe!"_, and before the teen-ager's new friend could respond, she popped a fourth of her kiwi-banana-and-peanut-butter sandwich in his mouth.  
"Rafe." the girl corrected, absently, as her companion chewed frantically around the concoction.  
A bit taken aback by her complete lack of concern, Cable lowered his knife slightly, eyes narrowed.  
Still chewing, Stryfe met his gaze, expression unreadable.  
"Cayanne, he..."  
The girl rolled her eyes upwards as though praying for devine intervention. "Don' tell me. He de most dangerous, hor'ble bad guy out dere." she said, dryly.  
Nathan stared at her.  
Stryfe chewed.  
"Well den, how come I not a smokin' heap?"  
"He..."  
"_He _got a name. Not Stryfe anymore. _Rafe. _Say it wit me. _Raaay-fe._" enunciated the girl, picking up another fourth of sandwich and taking a huge bite.  
Nathan glared, hand clenching on his knife.  
Stryfe swallowed, opened his mouth to deliver a scathing comment, and Cayanne popped another sandwich-fourth into his mouth.  
"You learn to play nice, Nathan, Rafe - I runnin' outta san'wich." Cayanne grinned impishly.

Scott went straight to Professor Xavier with his report, his expression tense with hidden worry. Jean joined him moments later, sitting next to him in the warm welcome of the study.  
"Stryfe returned with you?" Xavier's expression was nothing short of stunned. His dark eyes fixed on Scott, not quite accusing, but demanding an answer, and the young man looked up.  
"Cayanne insisted." The reason sounded weak, but Scott did not back down. "And even Logan agreed."  
_Strange, _the X-Men's leader thought, _but now Logan's opinion means so much to me._  
Jean rested a hand on his, expression full of love and support. "He's right, Professor. And I must admit - Cayanne is an excellent judge of character." she said, softly.  
Xavier frowned, clearly concerned for the welfare of all the mutants at the school.

Cayanne was licking the remnants of her sandwich off her sticky fingers while Nathan and Rafe glared at one another over her head. Rafe was still chewing, and Nathan was still holding his knife - and both looked ready to roll each other in the dirt.  
Finally, she stood up, putting her hands on her hips. "Dis gettin' silly." she observed. "Both you sit dere glarin' like you could make de other fall over - starin' contests outta style, by de way - and we gettin' nowhere." She looked up at Nathan. "Nathan, you give me dat knife? Dat way, we play Stratego wit'out real casu'lties."  
The X-Man stared down at the girl, startled.  
"And Rafe give me yer knife, de one hidden in yer boot."  
Stryfe's lips twitched. Slightly.  
"I hold both. You get back after game." She grinned up at them. "Got better idea. We play more fun game. You both owe favors. We play. All three. Each turn, each o' you gotta answer a question from de other."  
The two glared at one another over the girl's head, but said in the same instant, "Done."

Scott found Warren, Jean, and Ororo with Bobby and Jubilee in the Rec Room playing with the new console, a Sony Playstation 2. A pile of game CDs were strewn about the tv viewing area, and Zane was giving Jubilee a run for her money in "Resident Evil: Survivor". Liam was on the  
couch, a book laying open, clearly involved in homework.  
Speaking in a low tone despite the caucaphony, Scott asked, "Have you seen Nathan?"  
"Not recently." replied the winged mutant, wings unconciously giving a shiver-flutter as he turned.  
Scott frowned, and soon had rounded up Jean and Logan, who sniffed the air in the kitchen once, turned on his heel, and headed wordlessly for the library.  
Worried nearly to the point of being ill, Scott threw open the door, and froze in disbelief at what he saw.

Cayanne, stretched and half-turned in the oddest position over Nathan and called, "Okie, Rafe - hit it again!"  
Influenced by Stryfe's telekenisis, the cardboard square rose into the air, turned around, and in complete defiance of gravity, the needle spun, landing on a blue area of the circle.  
Flipping over fast and wobbling on one hand, the limber teen managed to hit a blue circle with one toe, aware that Stryfe had to stretch out completely to hit one near the end of the plastic playing area, while Nathan had to bend almost double.  
"Next question - and no fair sneakin' and usin' yer teek to hold yerself up, Rafe!"  
"The thought had never entered my mind." growled Stryfe.  
"If it had, you'd be floating." snapped Nathan.  
"Temper, dear brother." chided the tall mutant, voice expressionless. "My question, I believe."  
Through gritted teeth, "Get on with it, _brother._"  
Suprisingly, Stryfe's voice was uncharacteristically soft. "What was it like, Nathan, for you growing up?"  
Nathan almost lost his balance.  
"Hey, watch it! You'll smoosh me!" yelped Cayanne.  
Both men murmered apologies, but Nathan had to consider.  
Finally, he summed it up in one word.  
"Lonely."  
Then the door banged open, and Nathan and Stryfe, concentration shattered, both tumbled onto one another.

Cayanne was not quiet when the two tall mutants fell on top of her. Muffled yells and curses were clearly audible as they managed to untangle from one another and roll off the girl.  
"Twister?" sputtered Scott, as Jean grinned broadly.  
The teen-ager dusted herself off, grinned up at Stryfe and Nathan.  
"Dey pretty agile." she commented, cheerfully. "An' dey _can _play t'gether." She looked up at both men. "What say we catch dat movie on tv late t'morrow night? I make de popcorn." Then she grinned at Scott, Jean, and the silently lurking Logan. "And ya'll come too."

Despite herself, Cayanne had come to enjoy some aspects of school. She enjoyed learning - as long as she was left to do it at her own pace, and not forced to learn by rote.  
Miss Munroe had quickly discovered that her young student possessed a keen intelligence, but was easily bored and distracted with inactivity. Thus, despite her youth - and completely without Cayanne's knowledge - she blazed through the standardized grades and into college-level in a matter of days. Within a month, she had qualified for several degree-level programs, and by the time her oath with her father was up - and her movie-date with Stryfe and Nathan was imminent - she could easily enter any doctoral - and many PhD - programs with ease. She seemed to absorb information like a sponge, showing a facination with learning usually only apparent in scholars three times her age.  
However, she still had a great deal of trouble sleeping, often finding refuge in the library or in the kitchen. She also often forgot to eat, and when chided by her father - always with love and concern in his eyes - the teen's sense of guilt sent her off to the well-stocked refridgerator to fix herself a meal.  
But it rarely stayed down.  
She was determined to "tough it out", convinced it was some form of virus that would pass with time, and her own stubbornness kept her going.  
New students arrived, a few left, and finally four newcomers came that caused different reactions with the teen-ager.  
Mrs. Redmarch was of Native American decent, and became a much-needed secretary for the school. She was fiercely protective of "her" children, and very easy to like, and let even the children call her Laura. Her husband, Joseph, was the groundskeeper. Everyone - Cayanne included - liked the pair. Veronica Murral - Ronnie - was a mutant who had come to the school to be a teacher, and she was a darn _good _teacher. She had a son, Ian, who was also a mutant and had fit in well with his age-mates. Ronnie had taken over teaching math and science, leaving English and Literature to Scott, American History, Current Events, and Art to Ororo, and Eastern Studies to Logan. Scott and Logan taught Physical Education together, while Jean and Hank both taught Advanced Sciences. The last newcomer, Dorian Burke, was the elder brother of Althea, and her complete opposite. From the moment he arrived, Cayanne took to avoiding him. The man was a psychiatrist, and the last thing the girl wanted was someone messing around with her head.

Spinning the bat over easily in her hands, Cayanne crouched at the plate, swinging the object back up to hover slightly above her shoulder. One foot was planted in front of the plate, the other behind it, and she watched the pitcher with narrowed, alert eyes.  
It was free-play in Physical Education, and her choices - being a Freshman and all - had been softball or swimming. She liked swimming, but the idea of disrobing, changing, swimming a bit, disrobing again, changing again, then going back to study some more was a bit silly, at least in her mind.  
The only problem was that Althea was pitching.  
With a superior grin, the blonde threw the softball, hard enough to send the catcher flying backwards.  
"Strike one!" she called, sneering at the shorter mutant.  
"Shaddup an' throw the ball." returned Cayanne, expression darkening.  
Another throw, another strike.  
_Surge._  
The teen-ager gritted her teeth, shook her head violently.  
Althea threw the ball, expression one of contempt and superiority.  
The ball seemed to halt for one split second before Cayanne swung into the arc, effectively smashing the sphere out of the park - and knocking the skin off the tangle of string that fluttered weakly back toward the earth.  
Leaning jauntily on the bat, grinning evilly, Cayanne stared at Althea until the older girl looked away.

Wedged in between Nathan and Stryfe, Cayanne made an effective barrier to the occasional hostile stare. A huge bowl of fresh-popped popcorn, dripping with hot, melted butter, was in the girl's lap, and she had passed out large glasses of smoothies - even Logan accepted one rather than his trademark beer.  
Cayanne had spent several hours jury-rigging a huge projection tv - "borrowed" from the operating theatre - to the satellite tranciever on the roof, and had claimed ownership of the remote.  
Currently clad in a loose grey t-shirt with Wile E. Coyote holding up a sign saying "Super Genius" that came slightly past her knees, a pair of grey jogging pants with elastic gathers at the ankle, and clean white socks, she poked Nathan and Stryfe, then Logan.  
"When de dance come on, you follow us, okay? You too, Scott, Jean. No fair sittin' down and broodin', dis night for fun!" she said, firmly. Most of the teen-age mutants were sprawled on the floor, pillows and blankets beneath them, with an occasional giggle or swat with a pillow marking their locations.  
Cayanne clicked off the lights, and the silence was almost total before she flicked on the television.  
Shortly thereafter, the first strains of "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" filled the room, and pandemonium erupted.

Cayanne's suspicions were confirmed when she had to rally her class-mates to drag the adults out to do the Time Warp. As she put it, "Ya jus' can't watch de Rocky Horror an' not do de Time Warp - it like blasp'my or somethin'."  
Finally, she started throwing pillows to everyone as the movie came to an end.  
With a whoop, she charged Logan, leaping up and swatting the pillow down on his head as he turned from dancing with Jubilee to defend himself.  
Stryfe muttered something under his breath.  
As if watching someone else move, Cable suddenly smashed his own soft would-be weapon down on the other's head.  
Not to be outdone, Stryfe retaliated, summoning pillows from the couch telekenetically, which his brother dodged, all the while swatting his companion with the thick pillow.  
When Logan swatted Cayanne, the girl tumbled over the couch, onto a blanket, and grabbed a handful of slightly sticky left-over popcorn. With a rebel yell, she pelted the older mutant with the buttery remnants, bounding back over the back of the couch.  
Remy and Marie were having a grand time with two massive old feather pillows, while Bobby chased Warren around the room with a huge old pillow of indeterminate design he'd found.  
Zane and Liam were left with smaller foam pillows, but they were having as much fun as their fellows.  
"Come back here!" growled Logan, stalking the grinning Cayanne. He had to dodge around the wrestling, pillow-slinging Nathan and Stryfe, intent on catching the youngster.  
Scott gave a swing of his own pillow, connecting with Jean's side, and dodged around as she charged after him, laughing like a teen-ager herself.  
Ororo got hit by flying popcorn, and shortly thereafter retaliated by throwing her pillow at Remy, who was knocked into a delighted Marie's arms.  
Logan had backed Cayanne toward the corner of the room, pillow in hand, when the door opened, and the teen-ager let the popcorn bowl fly. The Canadian mutant brought his arm up, sweeping the bowl - which landed unceremoniously on the head of Charles Xavier.  
Cayanne dove to the side, but Logan snaked an arm out, pinning the mischevious youngster to his side.  
The bowl dripped butter down Xavier's face.  
The girl grinned at him. "At least it good fit. _Non?"_  
Xavier stared at her, then suddenly burst out laughing. Logan grinned, a bit ferally, and as the room's combatants became aware of the trio, the room rocked with laughter.

**_Next: _**Where does a former super-villian live? What is Cayanne hiding? And the men of the Institute face their greatest challenge -  
_shopping!_


	11. Interlude I Know

I Know

She isn't sleeping.  
I can hear her.  
Feel her.  
Warmth.  
Against my ice.  
Winning.  
No.  
Won.  
A child.  
Only a child, despite her - objections.  
I feel my lips curve into a smile in the shadows despite myself.  
She makes me feel - _feel!_  
And now, I am not afraid.  
I hear the soft hum of minds all around me.  
Yet her's is still and deep.  
It reminds me of a mountain stream - clear and simple on the surface, filled with complexities beneath.  
I hear the solid rumble of my - brother's - sleep.  
His feelings toward me are - complex.  
I respect his privacy.  
I hear her again, the sharp nothingless of a lost past.  
_What are you hiding, little one? _I don't ask. I don't invade.  
The floor is warm beneath my feet.  
I grew up always cold.  
Inside and out.  
I hear the fragmented melodies of children's songs floating through her mind, sweet with innocence, bright with laughter.  
Not songs she experienced, but songs she has made her own.  
I move from room to room, listening, not invading.  
Only listening.  
I know.  
I know her.  
I hear her, laughing, dancing on the edge of my mind, taking my battered soul by the hand.  
Dancing.  
Laughing.  
Wild as any creature born.  
So strong, that presence.  
So young.  
Yet.  
Strength is there as well.  
Fortitude. Determination.  
These were traits of experience, not childhood.  
I know.  
I feel.  
Her heart is beating, and I can sense her, staring deep into the shadows.  
Protecting the father she loves so deeply I can feel the fire, so warm I feel the softness.  
I pause, just sensing.  
An outsider.  
Cyclops and his wife sleep, safe in the shelter of one another's love.  
Logan prowls the grounds, a silent guardian, and I can feel his senses detect me, if on another level.  
The children sleep, safe in their dreams.  
My brother's sleep is filled with turmoil, but I respect the distance that defines us.  
For now.  
Gambit and Rogue sleep in the same room, their love a beacon despite their physical distance.  
Xavier is awake, working on forms.  
_Rafe, you not alone._  
Her voice is half-sleeping, but I feel a gentle warmth wrap around me.  
Loving me.  
Accepting me not as I should be -  
But as I am.  
_Nor or you, little one._  
_Don' you call me little! _The idiginant thought lances through her half-sleeping mind before it could be half-considered, and I pause, feeling the unfamiliar gentle curl of my lips.  
_Dis one time. Only! _she grumbled, an air of a special concession about the words.  
_This once. But, you remain under my protection. For as long as I may, little one._  
As long as I live.  
And beyond.  
There, the slight tremor in her mind.  
A yawn.  
She drowses fully.  
I walk back to the library, settle into a chair, and lift a book from the nearest shelf to my hand.  
A gentle warmth suffuces me.  
I know who I am.  
Rafe.  
I must find myself as Rafe, as myself, not as a pale reflection of Apocolypse.  
The Stryfe within me is dying.  
Let it die.  
I know who I am.  
I know.


	12. Dance on the Moonlight

**_CAJUN CINNAMON_**  
**Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle  
**  
Chapter VIV  
**_"Dance on the Moonlight"  
_**  
****_ "If I ever form my own clan, we'll be the Anti-Cheerleaders. We will not sit underneath the bleachers. We will wander_  
_ underneath them and commit mild acts of mayhem." - _Laurie Halse Anderson, _Speak  
_  
Cayanne sat on her bed, listening to the faint snores of Althea and the soft breathing of Jubilee. The moon was soft and full, sending a faint, pale light dancing across the floor as she watched, trying to ignore the Surges that wracked her.  
_I'm okay. _she thought, half-angry. _Not gonna lose it, 'r nothin'. No biggie. I'm okay _(**feed**), _I jus' got some funky _(**hunger**) _virus or somethin' _(**feed**). _Jus' tired from de party...._  
Another Surge. The world teetered dangerously around her ears. She gritted her teeth again, and swung her feet down, balancing on her toes. _(The inside of a building. Spinning. Metal walls. Smell of sulfur. Landing on hand...) _She looked down - three fingers? White gloves? Her gloves were black....)  
There was a strange implode/whoosh sound, a horrible smell, the drop/fling sensation of movement, then she was in the library, head pounding, trembling.  
She slid down the bookcase, slumping to the floor. Almost frantically, she fumbled for a book and, with uncharacteristic clumsiness, managed to yank out a huge, obviously never-read book by a man named James Clavell, and instinctively made for the tree outside her father's room.  
Climbing up above the window - she had no intention of invading her _Papa'_s privacy - she settled on her favorite limb, a thick, tapering branch that afforded her a view of the entire front of the mansion.  
Lit by the moon's pale light, she finally took a close look at the cover of her literary acquisition.  
_Shogun._  
Flipping open the cover, she was soon lost in the grandeur and mystery of ancient Japan.

"Scott, I can't find Cayanne." Ororo's voice was concerned. "She wasn't in class at all."  
"I'll check on her. Where's Remy?" Scott was abundantly aware of his Cajun friend's intense protectiveness of his daughter - discovering her missing would likely cause a no-hold's-barred search of the grounds, which would disrupt the entire student body.  
Giving the silver-haired woman a smile of reassurance, he paused to ask Jean to act as test monitor for his class, then headed toward the front door.  
"Mornin'." Logan's voice was gruff as gulped down a mug of hot coffee.  
"Cayanne's missing." said Scott, by way of explanation.  
The shorter mutant cocked his head to one side, regarding him with piercing, unreadable eyes. "You want me t' take a look 'round the joint, Slim?" he asked, casually.  
Scott had to fight down a smile. Ever since he had discovered Logan's place in his past, the other had seemed to relax slightly into their brotherhood and friendship. It was slow, but then Scott was also now well-aware that Logan had a past riddled with pain himself.  
"If you don't have anything else..."  
"Nah." Logan shrugged. "Go keep an eye on yer class, Slim. I'll find yer escapee."

Cayanne was covered in sweat, swinging violently between freezing cold and burning hot. She was shaking so violently her bones ached, and - whispers - echoed endlessly in her head, voices that sought to overwhelm her sense of self, to swamp her with alien sensation and thought.  
"Hey, kid."  
With a low growl, she swatted at the voice, and Logan caught her hand, bringing his other one up to touch her forehead. "Jeez, yer burnin' up."  
"C-cold." chattered Cayanne, her velvet-and-silver eyes flickering dully. "So cold...."

Hank came out of the room and was almost attacked by a frantic Gambit.  
"What wrong wit her?" the Cajun demanded, all but shaking the blue-furred mutant violently. "What happen?"  
Logan put a hand on his friend's arm, dragging him back with gruff compassion.  
"Her temperature skyrocketed, but there is no evidence of brain-damage - indeed, quite the opposite." Hank was sympathetic, and regarded Remy with concern.  
"What you mean?"  
"Sit down, my friend."  
"Hank...."  
"Please."  
Remy reluctantly sank into a seat between Marie and Jean.  
"Cayanne had the Legacy virus." Everyone froze in horror, but Hank went on. "I say that with precision. _Had. _Her system has manufactured an antibody, a very _aggressive _antibody." He patted Remy's arm, comfortingly. "It can be easily injected into anyone with an X-Gene - even one with an advanced case - and not only will they be cured of the virus, but will be immune not only to the Legacy virus, but _all possible variations _of it."  
Marie whispered, "A cure!"  
Hank nodded. "Yes. But...." he hesitated.  
Remy looked at him, fire burning in the shadows of his gaze.  
"The antibody cannot be duplicated artificially. Apparently it's life is very short, only an hour or so at very best, outside her system. According to my calculations, the same antibody is a "learning" antibody. Expose her to whatever virus or disease and, assuming she survives it, she can produce and antibody for the disease."  
"Her mutation." murmured Jean.  
"Oh, no." Hank shook his head. "It is not a mutation, and most certainly not whatever ability is appearing due to mutation. It appears to be a natural evolutionary step _beyond _mutation, beyond even the next several generations beyond mutation, but how it occurred, I have no idea."  
"Cayanne in any danger?" demanded Remy, fists tightly clenched at his side.  
"We still cannot surmise her mutation, which is a major concern. She shows signs of poor nutrition and sleep deprivation, though she insists she "feels fine". At the moment, she is resting, and seems to be improving."  
Remy looked stricken, and Marie did the only thing possible, she wrapped one arm around the man she loved and held him.  
Hank looked over his glasses. "I have spoken to Dorian. He suggests Cayanne be moved to a private room. Perhaps her need for privacy is inhibiting her ability to sleep. And perhaps Jean, Marie, and Ororo might take the child to the mall. You might discover what foods she prefers there."  
"She like Cajun." pointed out Remy.  
"With no insult intended to the cuisine, she needs a greater broadening of her horizons, my friend." Hank comforted. "And getting  
out might do all our students some good."

"Shopping?" Cayanne's sharp, mobile face showed a range of emotions between disgust and annoyance. "_Papa, _I got clothes, ever'thin' I need!" she objected, from her place on the hospital bed.  
Remy was sitting on the side of the bed, his eyes on his daughter's face. His own expression was a combination of concern and deep affection.  
"You need fun time, _oui? _And you never been shoppin' with the ladies." he pointed out.  
"Cayanne not wear dresses!" grumbled the teen, crossing her arms, scowling.  
Remy struggled not to smile. His expression was loving as he hugged her gently. "Not have to wear dress. Just for fun." he soothed.  
"I out o' money! It was a last gasp of resistance.  
"Don't worry, _mon petit amour ardent, _yer _Papa _take care of you."

Wedged in the back seat between Logan and Zane, Cayanne was left largely to her thoughts as the van made it's way towards the mall. Jubilee was delighted with the trip and didn't bother to hide it, happily describing what she would purchase to Logan, while Marie and Jean were chatting animatedly about what they needed to pick up.  
Brendan, a junior, was peering out the window, watching the traffic; Liam was silent and still on the other side of Zane, and Althea and her current boyfriend, Burt, were sitting as close together as possible without being forced apart by disapproving chaperones.  
Cayanne had a tattered paperback for her English class, a Shakespearean play, "Othello". So far she had developed an intense dislike of Iago, but then, she supposed that that was the whole idea. Worse than a liar, he was downright diabolical in his half-truths and innuendos, using them to bring a once-noble man low. Very depressing. She sighed. A _lot _of the Bard's plays were depressing. It struck her as odd that many people enjoyed the tragedy more than the hopeful. Odd. Maybe because it mirrored life.  
She considered that.  
_Ah, phooey! _she thought to herself. _Life meant to be enjoyed, played, lived to it's fullest! Ever' moment, full o' sight and sound and passion! Dat what de Bard not write about. Maybe he want reader see de opposite o' what he write, who know? I not dere when he write it!  
_  
The moment Scott stopped the van, he had to yell to be heard over the cacophony of nine excited teen-agers. "Everyone be back her at 7:00 o'clock. Exactly! Or you'll be pulling restriction for the next month." His visored gaze swept the group. "And stay out of trouble!"  
The group scattered.  
Cayanne fell in stride with Ororo, who smiled reassuringly at her. "We have a new room open, and thought you might like to decorate it." she commented, shortening her stride slightly so the teen-ager could keep up.  
"A room?" Cayanne's voice was cautious.  
"Yes, the one down two doors from mine." the tall weather-mutant replied, watching the girl out of the corner of her eye.  
"An' I can keep my books and clothes in dere? However I want?"  
"Certainly."  
"Decorate how I like?"  
"Of course."  
Cayanne grinned suddenly. "Well, den! Let's get crackin'!"

Ororo was pleased at her young companion's taste. While they shopped, the older mutant and her younger companion chatted about a variety of subjects. Though Cayanne remained a bit tentative, the weather mutant discovered that the teen-ager was an active observer, and, Ororo came to realize, possessed a well-hidden sensitivity. Watching her cock her head as they passed an Italian restaurant, the strains of Vivaldi heavy on the air, the dark-skinned woman watched silently as the girl's eyes closed a moment, not merely _listening _to the music but _experiencing _ it, feeling it, breathing it in.  
Cayanne paused, looked up at Ororo, then grinned unabashed. "Where we go, den?" she asked, expression one of good cheer.  
"Perhaps furniture." suggested the woman known also as Storm.  
"Have bed, n' _Papa _say he give chair..." began the teen-ager.  
"You will need a few extra things, Cayanne." Ororo's smile was fond as well as encouraging. "Your room should be special."  
The girl regarded her with some puzzlement. "Which store, den?" she asked, peering at the mall map.  
Ororo regarded it carefully, then pointed to the small store she favored, Tudor's Antiques.

"Scott is being an absolute angel." said Marie, glancing back at the tall young man carrying their packages.  
Jean smiled tenderly back at her husband, who returned the expression before falling a bit behind them, clearly to give them some "girl time".  
"I want to find something special to wear." said the younger mutant, tactfully changing the subject. "Ahm sure I know what to get, but not sure where."  
"Can I take a peek?" Jean asked, shifting her one small bag to the other hand.  
"Go ahead."  
Jean's mouth fell open and she had to bite her lower lip in order not to giggle. "You're naughty." she mock-scolded.  
Marie blushed, but shot back, "This from the woman who just bought a dress illegal in some states...."  
They looked at one another, then burst out laughing.

Cayanne ignored the larger, more "in vogue" posters and larger tables, seeking simpler, subtler decorations. She found small cherrywood table and chair for a very reasonable price, a wall-scroll copy of ancient Japanese haiku, several calligraphy brushes, some paint in a brick-red and soothing dark burgundy, as well as an off white and ivory, a bedsheet-set of good resistant nylon (in deep red and grey), and a soft nylon set (in burgundy and light tan), four thick pillows, and a small rug with a distinct face of a white fox woven into it. She also purchased a small incense burner and a set of cherry incense in the shape of an oriental dragon, a wall-scroll that would cover the center of the other wall of a white western and red imperial oriental dragon intertwined in a yin-yang symbol, and a large, very detailed dragon model that would require painting - in the end, she ended up with models of a variety of creatures.  
They made several trips back and forth to the car, and Ororo secretly had Jean send their packages back to the mansion and into Cayanne's new room.  
Cayanne passed the small statuary store twice before she suddenly ducked in, almost losing Ororo in her change of direction. The teen found a small, beautifully carved wooden wolf, it's proud head lifted to howl at a hidden moon, that she chose immediately; a series of white, amethyst, amber, and emerald dragons in a variety of sizes - from hatchling to awesome adult; candles in the forms of crouching tigers; and two candleholders of hand-carved rosewood in the form of coiled dragons that held the candle in six-toed claws.  
She also added a beautiful stone dolphin, a wooden eagle of exquisite simplicity, and a miniature Zen garden, complete with hand-sized sand-rake.  
Ororo was quickly coming to see that her young companion was by no means allowing herself to slow down - indeed, the girl was all but a whirlwind of activity and eager curiosity once her wary surface nature was bypassed.  
Finally, she insisted that they meet Scott, Jean, and Marie for lunch at mall restaurant called The Smoking Grill.  
"Dis more fun din I thought." said Cayanne, as they were shown to their seats. "Ya'll have fun?"  
Marie grinned. "Ahm having a blast! Wait until Remy sees what I got - his eyes'll pop right outta his head!" she laughed, eyes sparkling.  
Cayanne grinned, her eyes hidden behind the aviator-style glasses Stryfe had given her.  
Jean grinned evilly up at Scott, obviously having purchased something that he would see later herself.  
Cayanne peered at the menu, deep in thought. "No salads?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Hmmm."  
_She isn't wild about meat. _Jean sent to her friends.  
_Not 'less it fresh. _Everyone was startled, for the comment had clearly come from an unwitting Cayanne.  
"Fried cheese an' a salad. Big salad. Maybe potato later. Dunno. Not very hungry." commented the teen, while Scott regarded her thoughtfully.

Althea and Denise had found the "best" places in the mall, and were currently enjoying shopping to the fullest. Both were from extremely wealthy families, and both were well-able to choose whatever they wished without concern.  
"That _- child_ - will be moved out of our quarters, so we can at _last _decorate!" the tall blonde said, her expression one of malicious delight.  
"I'm just glad that the Professor finally recognized that we seniors can't be expected to baby-sit a child!" replied Denise, her total agreement obvious.  
They stopped in front of a Victoria's Secret outlet, and Denise gave a squeal of delight. "Imagine what Bert and Lance would think if they saw us in those!" she grinned, delighted.

Cayanne was reluctant to clothes-shop, but Ororo, Jean, and Marie coaxed her into the shop of one of the best tailors in the States, a silver-haired, friendly-faced man who appeared to be in his middle fifties who had often hand-made clothing for the X-Women. He was not anti-mutant, and believed all children deserved good clothes and respect - along with love, hope, and the best education they could absorb. Jean knew that Joseph was a survivor of Auschwitz, and was extremely tolerant of the young.  
Nonetheless, the girl seemed wary at first, but slowly warmed to the older man as he chatted with her about her school and opinions on the surroundings.  
As the two chatted on the other side of the room, the three women - Scott had happily gone off to an antique toy store to browse - Ororo spoke softly to her friends. "Cayanne seems to be feeling much better - she's a delightful child, my friends. Intelligent, inquisitive..."  
"And telepathic." said Jean, quietly. "She isn't aware of it, but she is."

Althea had found a short - almost too short - leather mini-skirt she chose, and a bright pink leather halter-top, and high-heeled leather boots. Denise had chosen a black one-piece dress slit high up the left side and cut almost as daringly as her friend's, and they walked down the corridor and turned right into a high-priced boutique for makeup.  
Bert met them in his blue jeans and t-shirt, hair neatly parted at least, and the tall blonde slipped an arm in his. "Let's head back to the car." she whispered. "We can drive the children home - the teachers can fly back."  
The young man pouted. "We'll be on restriction." he replied, voice husky.  
Her gaze was challenging. "I'll make it worth your while." she murmured, seductively.

Cayanne made her way back to the van after insisting that the adults needed some "quality time" too. She had a new set of dark grey slacks, two sweaters - one brick-red knit with light tan zigzag stripes, one light tan with brick-red stripes - a new pair of hand-fashioned, soft-soled, flexible boots in a dark grey color, three silk blouses - white, red, and dove-grey, and five pairs of socks. Then she had three huge t-shirts that would serve as nightgowns in warm weather, five pairs of pajamas (for cold weather), and two pairs of tennis shoes (high-tops). She was also pleased with the flexible, yet perfectly fit, new, black, fingerless gloves she now wore, and her two new coats - the dark grey trenchcoat that reached her knees, and the dark grey leather jacket that came slightly past her waist.  
The "incidentals" had been the problem. She had been talked into new underwear - everyone had seemed surprised that she'd been wearing boys' underwear, but that's what had been easiest to get - and _bras! _The teen shuddered. She'd never worn such a contraption. On top of that, she'd been coaxed into having her teeth checked by the mall dentist - she'd nearly bit him when he'd suggested that she would get a lollypop if she was good. Twit.  
Marie had bought her two more dragon-and-flame silk shirts, one blue and the other white, which she loved, and she had found herself _- comfortable_. That was almost scary. She was becoming_ comfortable_ with them. Even liking them. A great deal.  
There...she was at the car. Shaking herself out of her reverie, she grinned a greeting to Zane and Liam, then scowled when she saw Althea, Denise, and Bert up in the front seat.  
"We're leaving." announced Althea, tossing her blonde, elegantly coiffed hair.  
"We supposed t'wait fer de others." pointed out Cayanne.  
Denise scowled. "In!" she barked, literally throwing Liam into the back seat. Zane dove with a howl of rage to protect his friend, and Althea started the engine. She had always known having the car keys duplicated would be useful.  
Cayanne snarled a curse as the car started to move, scrambling in as Zane's cursing reached her ears. She grabbed the seatbelts, hooking in first the stunned Liam, then a struggling Zane.  
Then there was a massive bang and she knew no more.

The moment Scott saw the car he knew it was bad. Logan was already there, using his claws as wedges to pry the doors open, and with a massive heave managed to flip the van off Cayanne's unmoving form.  
"Slim, get Blondie out." growled Wolverine, using one hand to stop the flow of blood that coursed down the teen-ager's face.  
Cyclops flipped the visor open, and used an extremely thin beam to cut the shrieking Althea free of the metal ruin. Denise had managed to crawl out, and Bert was sitting on the gravel of the parking lot, nursing a broken thumb. Zane and Liam were huddled against Jean, clearly stunned, while Brendan - who had arrived after the accident - stood nearby, expression one of horror and confusion.  
"She saved us." Liam's soft voice was shaking. "She saved us, but didn't have time to save herself."  
Jean hugged the boy tighter with one arm, aware that Zane seemed even more distraught. "Is she dead?" he whispered. "Doctor Grey, she can't be dead!"

Logan moved a hand to touch Cayanne's neck, uttered a curse, and immediately tilted her head back, covering her mouth with his own, breathing life-giving oxygen into her lungs.  
Scott, without thinking, immediately began heart message, counting the presses out loud.  
"Come on, darlin'." gritted Logan, between breaths. "Don't give up on us."  
A weak, gagging sound was his only answer, then she was still again.  
The mutant known as Wolverine immediately knew what was wrong. Blood had collected in at least one lung - she couldn't breathe. Indeed, she was suffocating, choking on her own blood. The only option was to force her to bring it up, a dangerous maneuver, especially if she had internal injuries, but if nothing were done, she would soon die of oxygen deprivation.  
There was no other choice.  
He turned the girl around, moved his hand up to just above the center of the diaphragm, and pressed in sharply.  
Cayanne spat up blood, choking and gagging on the amount forced up.  
Her eyes flew open, as her skin began to turn cool and pale. The girl was sliding into shock, shivering suddenly despite the incorogously gentle warmth of the early evening.  
Logan felt her grab his hand, fingernails unconsciously digging into his skin, and her gaze - stubborn, defiant, but with the tiniest edge of fear - met his. She wasn't giving up. He took off his jacket and wrapped it around her, pulling the teen's trembling body against his chest.  
"Hang on, darlin'." he said, softly. It was half command, half plea.  
"Red!" his call was matched by the intent he envisioned.

Cayanne was on a ventilator, each breath a battle, each movement agony, but she demanded a book the moment she regained consciousness and set into reading. There was no complaint on her part, though she had worried that her clothing - bought and paid for with her _Papa_'s money - was destroyed until Ororo was able to reassure her that the bags and items were safely in the teen-ager's new room.  
The girl was seriously injured. Both legs were broken, all the ribs on her left side and four on her right, one arm, her shoulder was dislocated, her back badly sprained, and she had a mild concussion. Her regenerative ability was clearly incredible - she should have been killed seconds after the van landed on her. The teen was already on the mend, playing chess with Professor Xavier until Hank insisted she get some rest.  
Remy, Stryfe, and Cable, on the other hand, went on the warpath.  
Althea, who had suffered a cut on the forehead and several bruises was hit by an energized card the moment she entered the mansion, then belted across the room by Stryfe's telekinesis, directly into Cable's arms. Dragged up to the tall mutant's chest, she looked down at the knife that now glinted at her throat and whined, "I didn't do anything."  
"She mine." snarled Gambit, eyes blazing with fire and shadow.  
Cable stared at him a moment, then wordlessly dropped the young woman at the Cajun's feet.  
Stryfe moved forward from the shadows, standing next to his brother, one eye glowing with the force of his rage.  
Another card glowed as Althea, who had gained her feet, swung a punch at Gambit's head.  
If not for Logan and Scott wrestling the enraged, half-maddened Cajun off the young woman, it was quite possible he would have killed her.  
Instead, they managed to drag him to Cayanne's bedside, where she instantly wrapped her arms around him and held him for all she was worth.  
"Hi, guys - you okay?" the teen asked, looking up at the two tall mutants in the doorway.  
In uncanny unison, they nodded, though the agreement didn't quite reach their eyes.  
Cayanne managed a grin. "You stubborn, both o' ya." she whispered, hugging her father tight. "Dat I un'nerstan'. You take care of my _Papa _for me? He tired. Need sleep." she whispered.  
"Gambit not leave you." Remy's voice was fierce.  
"That I can understand." Nathan's voice was gravelly with supressed emotion.  
"As can I." Stryfe's voice was as calm - if one could call it that - as his brother's. He turned to regard Cayanne, who looked up at him, mouthing, "neat trick", clearly refrencing his one glowing eye. _Have no fear, Cayanne. _His telepathic voice was heard by the girl and his brother. _You and your father are both under my protection._  
_ Our protection. _That was, oddly enough, clearly from Nathan.  
Cayanne grinned up at them, eyes sparkling with humor. "Dere goes yer rep, guys." she whispered.  
Stryfe crossed his arms, stance showing nothing.  
Nathan's regarded her with an unreadable expression.  
"Don' have a gator, I not tell no-one. Our secret, okay?"  
Both men stared at her, then at each other, then back at her.  
Almost at the same moment, they nodded, as the glow in the darkness faded slowly, leaving daughter and father alone.  
Finally, Cayanne scooted over and Remy curled himself protectively around her on the hospital bed, where both stayed the night.

_Three days later  
_  
"I can't take dis no more!" groaned Cayanne, propped up against pillows in the MedBay's bed. Books were strewn around her, along with homework papers, sketches, and assorted odds and ends. "When I can leave?"  
Marie passed her a paperback novel. "We found this, since I hear you're a sci-fi buff." she said, smiling fondly at the disgruntled girl.  
The teen cocked her head. _"Papa_?" she asked.  
"He's asleep." soothed the older mutant, patting the girl's shoulder.  
Cayanne looked down at the book_. "Pegasus in Flight_." she read, then grinned. "Sound good!"

Remy, Logan, Scott, Jean, Ororo, Hank, and Marie had gathered at Professor Xavier's request to discuss what new discoveries they had made on Cayanne's manifesting abilities.  
The tall Cajun was sitting in a high-backed chair, Marie next to him. Logan was leaning against the wall, face hidden in shadows, while Scott stood behind Jean, who was seated in the other chair in front of Xavier.  
"Cayanne reading." said Remy, his angular face drawn with worry. "What you have to tell Gambit?"  
Hank spoke quietly. "Cayanne has an incredibly powerful regenerative ability, but, as she is still manifesting, it is apparently intermittent." He regarded Remy with deep sympathy and very real concern. "I gave her standardized tests, as well as advanced mutation intelligence tests, and on both she tested off the scale." Remy's eyes opened wide, but the blue-furred Professor continued gently, "And according to Jean, she is a latent telepath."  
"I have been testing her subtly as we played chess." said Xavier, drawing a narrow-eyes glare from Remy. "Her mental shields are incredibly strong, but in several areas, they are also, for a lack of better description, extremely torn, raw." He closed his eyes, expression almost wistful. "It is quite probable her telepathic abilities exceed my own by a considerable level, which concerns me. If the telepathic shielding she has built around herself fails, her sensitivity could be injurious in the extreme."  
Remy's expression became even more concerned.  
"I cannot, however," Xavier continued, choosing his words with care, "enter her mind without her knowledge. Perhaps I could force my way in, but she would suffer permanent harm, and certainly lose any amount of trust and peace she has gained here."  
"Can she hear us continually?" asked Jean, leaning forward, eyes showing sympathy and concern.  
"I don't believe so. She has effectively blocked the ability out of her conscious mind - I believe she was at once point mentally invaded, and now has an unconscious fear of the ability, bordering dangerously on paranoia. I have also noticed that she does not project often - she does not manipulate, consciously or otherwise. Apparently she finds the idea as repugnant unconsciously as she does consciously." Xavier steepled his fingers, deep in thought. "I can continue to attempt to teach her some telepathic discipline until her gift emerges, and I would suggest she continue college-level studies. Her gifts are impressive, and should be fully explored, if cautiously. She is...very young."  
Hank nodded. "Her injuries are healing rapidly. Within the next few days, she can return to school and basic activities." he commented.  
"I think it'd be better if she took another gym class." said Scott suddenly, his expression grim. "And we need to think of an appropriate discipline for Althea, Bert, and Denise. Cayanne, Zane, and Liam easily could have been killed."  
"I promised to teach Cayanne." The low voice came from Logan. "An' I will. But I can't teach her with only one hour every day." His gaze fell on Xavier, then on Remy. "Twenty hours a week, without fail, that'll do to start."  
"She too young, _mon ami._" whispered Remy. What it really meant was, "Don't take her from me. Please.".  
"Two days of the week with me, as a student. The rest of the time with Gumbo, and as a student." conceeded Logan. He understood the pain Remy was facing. No father ever wanted to lose their child. And Cayanne wasn't quite ready to be an independant adult.  
Xavier nodded, sending a gentle, telepathic pat to Remy, comforting as best he could.  
"I want de best fer Cayanne." Remy's voice was still soft. He rarely used the pronoun, using instead "Gambit" or "Remy". This was clearly too deeply emotional for him to distance in any way. "She - my daughter. Take care o' her for me."  
"Don't worry, Gumbo." said Logan, voice gruff. "She'll be fine. I'll make sure of it."

Cayanne was bored in the MedBay, and even her sore sides and back didn't slow her down in wanting to be released quickly.  
Hank sympathized. He had ample experience with his intelligence not being challenged,and finally came in four days after the accident with a book under his arm.  
"Good morning, Cayanne." the blue-furred mutant said, while quickly taking in the youngster's color, the readings on the monitors and a variety of other factors.  
The girl looked up, grinning a welcome.  
"I hear you're a bit bored."  
"Not "bit"." replied the girl, wryly. "Nothin' t'do in here. Jus' _sit_!" Her expression equated that with something in between starvation and torture. "_Je deviens fou! Bien, plus fou..." _Cayanne's eyes sparkled with mischief.  
Hank smiled warmly at the girl, taking the thick book and putting it on the cluttered bedside table. A stack of paperback novels tottered dangerously toward him as he did so, and he swiftly shifted the top half to the floor before being caught in a bookslide. "I believe this book may be a bit more challenging for you." he said, cheerfully. "It is a set of practice examinations."  
Cayanne picked up the offering, flipping through it's pages, sharp face lighting suddenly with interest. Her fingertips found a formerly sealed portion at the end, and she looked curiously up at her doctor.  
"I took the liberty of filing some paperwork so you may take the full test, should you choose." He patted the girl's shoulder. "You will need a proctor, and I volunteered."  
The teen grinned broadly. "I take test. Need more books from the library, though. You get?" she inquired.  
Hank bowed, tipping an imaginary hat at her. "It would be an honor."  
Cayanne laughed, her expression one of pure mischievous glee.

"Miss Burke." said Professor Xavier, indicating a chair in front of his desk.  
Jean was standing to his left, a quiet, but comforting presence. Since their discussion about Cayanne's new routine, Logan and Scott had escorted Remy and Marie outside, in the hopes of keeping the volitle Cajun away from the young woman who now sat before them.  
"Yes, Professor?" Perfectly dressed, as always, Althea fairly oozed sensuality, as well as a level of irritation at being called to the carpet, as it were.  
"You are now on restriction." Xavier's shields kept the teen-ager's phereomones from affecting him, and, as a woman, Jean was immune. Even without the psychic shielding, Xavier was suddenly aware that she would have held no intrest for him, even as a younger man. There was beauty, yes, even an extreme level of it, but that was all. Beyond a sulky, vengeful need to punish anyone who became the center of attention, there was little to Althea. It was tragic, actually - the young woman had the gifts and skill to be an asset to the team one day, if she applied herself.  
"Doctor Grey and I have decided you will remain so for the next ten weeks."  
"_Ten weeks?" _It came out half strangled shriek, half whine. "But...but...I was to shop for a new dress this weekend, and Bert was going to take me to dinner and a movie..."  
"You should have considered that before you tried to steal the van." Jean's voice was dark with disapproval. Her glance at the Professor showed a growing dislike for the younger mutant.  
"If not for that...if not for Cayanne, I wouldn't have hit the tree." complained Althea. "It wasn't _my _fault that she distracted me, I _have _a drivers' licence...!"  
"That will be quite enough!" Xavier was rarely angry. Years of self-control imposed by his telepathic power had made it difficult for him to allow himself the luxury. But he would never forget the haunted look on Remy's face, the pain on Logan's, when the Canadian appeared with Cayanne's bloody body in his arms.  
"You are on restriction, and on restriction you will stay. You will not leave the school grounds under any circumstances, and your curfew has been reduced to 8 o'clock on school days, though I will allow you until 9 o' clock on Saturday. I expect your schoolwork to be turned in promptly, and your behavior toward the staff and your teachers to be respectful. Any infringements of school rules will increase both the time and terms of your restriction. Do you understand?"  
With a sulky, thwarted expression, Althea nodded. Both telepaths felt the stab of melevolant hatred that burst from the young woman, fouling the air briefly.  
Jean's green eyes blazed. "And as for Cayanne, she was protecting her friends. You have no right to blame her for your poor behavior, and you know it." she told the girl, inwardly furious.  
"She's a...she's a _freak!_" spat out Althea, hate and rage in her eyes.  
"Enough!" the word came out frighteningly-controlled. "Miss Burke, you are dismissed."  
The young woman pushed back the chair, almost rushing from the room, and Xavier reached up to gently take Jean's hand, projecting comfort,  
reassurance.  
Jean let out a long, frustrated breath. "That girl is going to be trouble." she warned.

"Dat was fun!" Cayanne enthused to Hank, as they went over the last few questions. "I take real test now?"  
"I don't see why not." He handed her a pencil. "You have half an hour for the first part."  
Cayanne picked up the Scantron sheet, and glancing at Hank, started in when he nodded.

Logan and Scott lined up the class, and began to run them through some basic calisthenics. Of course, Logan's idea of "basic" would drop a professional soldier inside of five minutes, so Scott had made some modifications out of consideration for his students.  
Liam was, as always, in the back. Also as always, Zane was beside him. Justin - who reminded him in many ways of Kurt Wagner, the mutant known as Nightcrawler - was prowling back and forth at the back of the class. Resembling a winged gargoyle, or some fantastical demon, Justin was uncomfortable in any enclosed space, and often spread his huge wings to reassure himself.  
"All right, I promised you a special treat if you beat your last time, and you did." Scott said, while Logan stood silently next to him, eyes raking the group. "Everyone into the dressing room, you'll find a _gi_ in your locker. Change up, Logan's agreed to teach a few of the basics."

"What was her score, Professor?" asked Hank, crouched comfortably next to Remy and Marie. "She quite enjoyed the examination."  
Xavier shook his head, still staring at the computer screen. "The first or the second one?" he asked, mildly.  
"Ah can't believe they accused her of cheating!" Marie said, hand in Remy's longer one.  
"That's just the issue, the score was the same the second time, even with the webcam in her hospital room."  
"You never tell us de first score." pointed out Remy.  
"True." smiled Xavier, his expression one of paternal pride. "Her MCAT was perfect."  
"Perfect?" All three of the X-Men chorused.  
"Indeed. I have offers of admission from nine different colleges, including excellent scholarships." Xavier continued, turning to fully face the others.  
"Johns Hopkins, Baylor..."  
"Cayanne not goin' nowhere 'cept here." growled Remy. It had been hard enough to agree to allow the plan that would place her in Logan's care two days of the week.

It took effort to sneak out of the MedBay, but then, sneaking was a skill Cayanne had developed early. Peering around the corner, she crouched down and bounded silently in a zigzag pattern down the hallway. From there, it was easy to pick her way down the stairs, over to the side of the hall, and into the school.  
_Good t'ing dey leave clothes in dat locker near de bed. _she thought, absently, to herself. The lock had been almost too easy to pick. _Now all I gotta do iz get ta gym class.  
_  
The _gi _were not, strictly speaking, what Logan would have given a student. They had no Clan or family insignia, and were not exactly of the proper cut, but they would do. He was not taking the youngsters on as students personally, there was no specific bond between them.  
The training of a student taken on by a_ sensei _in his estimation - and according to his training - was a bond as sacred and often as deep, if not deeper, as the bond between parent and child.  
For himself, he had chosen to wear his_ hakama _and_ hachimaki_, his swords trusted friends at his side.  
He sniffed the air once, identifying each of the students - then a new scent touched his senses. The tang of cinnamon. The delicacy of chrysanthemum. The soft sweetness of a cherry blossom.  
Cayanne.  
Logan frowned slightly, for that scent also carried the slight touch of rust/salt/sour that told him she was still recovering from injuries.  
Moving with the fluid grace of one completely in their element, he stepped to the front of the class.  
"Look, he wears a _dress_!" that loud whisper came from Burt, and he and Lance laughed, believing being in the back row accorded them a shield from Logan's hearing.  
Cayanne took one step forward, sharp face showing disapproval, then grabbed both boys' ears and cranked hard enough they almost went into cartwheels.  
"If ya shut her mouth fer ten seconds, ya might learn somethin'." she hissed, silver blazing like a star against a backdrop of night.  
Bert spun around - right into Logan, who glared down at him with cold fire in his eyes.  
Cayanne stood up on her toes, and said, "Ummm_....Ike...Ika...Ikagadesuka_?"  
Logan regarded Bert until the boy looked away, then turned to the girl.  
_ "Irasshaimase, _Cayanne_. Ogenki desu ka?"_  
The teen racked her brain for a moment, then brightened and replied, "Ay...grr, wait...ummm...eh_? Ee_? That's it!" Her whole face lit up with glee at her discovery. _"Ee, mah mah_...right?"  
Logan nodded.  
The girl swept a bow in his direction, a grin still on her mobile face.  
_"Ikimashou_!" she said, gleefully.

Translations from the Cajun

_mon petit amour ardent _- my fiery little love  
_Je deviens fou! Bien, plus fou..."_ - "I'm going crazy! Well, crazier…"

Translations from the Japanese

_gi _ - uniform worn during martial arts practice  
_sensei _ - master of a form of martial arts, can be used in the literal form, which means "teacher"  
_hakama _ - black skirt worn by _sensei _as part of a _gi _in certain martial arts  
_hachimaki _ - a piece of cloth wrapped around the forehead of a warrior  
_Ikagadesuka _ - Hello, how are you?  
_Ogenki desu ka? _- Are you all right?  
_Ee mah mah _ - I'm okay  
_Ikimashou!_ - Let's go!


	13. First Steps Out of Darkness

**_CAJUN CINNAMON_**  
**Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle  
**  
Chapter X  
**_"First Steps Out of Darkness"  
_**  
Cayanne watched Logan flow through a _kata, _his movements graceful and swift. The kicks and punches were perfectly timed, and almost eeiree in their silence. It was clear to her being hit by one alone would be potentially fatal.  
Her expression was one of intense concentration, as she tried to fathom how he managed each movement, each instant _between _those movements. His focus of concentration was transended into calmness, a stillness on his craggy features.  
From the back of the class, she listened to the hushed murmers, the quiet comments of the other students.  
"I hope he teaches us some cool moves." whispered Lance, who was directly in front of the young Cajun, and to the left of his best friend, Bert. "I hear he can seriously mess people up."  
"We'll be the_ baddest _around." Bert boasted in reply, also in a low voice.  
Cayanne ignored them, watching Logan's movements, seeing the potential lethality, yes - but also seeing the Dance in his movements, a kind of harmony of body and mind that facinated her.  
_I've had my share o' de scraps, but always fer de reason o' gettin' out in one piece. Never knew could be a dance. I not as good with my staff as _Papa_, he de expert, he an artist wit his, but dis - dis new. Art, dance - danger. All t'gether. I learn dis, in pieces, I t'ink, but I watch. I learn.  
_  
After the class was over, Logan watched the students leave, pushing and shoving one another playfully, and shook his head ruefully. He hadn't expected to find a serious student among them, but most he had decided simply needed basic survival skills...  
"Dat impressive." said a familiar voice.  
It was rare for the mutant known as Wolverine to need to look down, but Cayanne was almost five inches shorter than him. It didn't faze her in the slightest, as she regarded him with a steady gaze.  
"Take long time to learn de basics?" she asked.  
Logan shrugged.  
Cayanne rolled her eyes. "You a card carryin' member o' de stoic club too, ain'cha?" she commented, an impish grin on her face.  
"What'd ya think of class?" His voice was gruff, but showed no sign of exaustion. Indeed, he didn't even look tired.  
"Class? Dey want learn t' beat up each other. It a tes'trone t'ing. Dey outgrow it." she shrugged.  
"I meant the _kata._" Logan's gaze flickered briefly with amusement.  
The girl grinned. "Dat impressive. Like wave, move from one stance to other. Like fire, like water - flow." She regarded him curiously. "Dat not how you fight."  
"Nah. Get's a bit more - inventive."  
"So you better dan de form you learn?" Did she sound impressed?  
Logan shrugged.  
Cayanne regarded him thoughtfully.  
"You show me?" she asked.  
A better opening could not have been planned.  
"Chuck wanted me t' teach ya the basics." His expression unreadable. "But it ain't gonna be easy. Two days o' the week, I'll teach ya. And I'll run ya ragged." A vauge challenge.  
Cayanne burst out laughing. "Yer on." she replied, silver sparkling on velvet in her eyes.

Xavier was in his office when Marie knocked on the door. Rather, she lifted one hand to knock, before the telepath's warm mental voice said gently, _Come in, Marie._  
"You wanted to see me?" Despite her best efforts, she knew he felt her joy bubbling over.  
"Hmmm." Leaning back, Xavier indicated a chair, dark eyes studying the younger mutant.  
"Ahm just on my way into town to pick up some supplies..." she began, after a moment's pause.  
"That was why I asked you in." His smile was wry. "As the last field trip ended rather - explosively, I wondered if you might take the younger students into town with you."  
The mutant known as Rogue made a face. "Remy and I..." she began.  
"The children would benefit from a few hour excersion, and I believe Jean will be a chaperone. You need only drive them, then return..."  
Marie grinned suddenly. "Why not? I'll tell Remy, and we can head out in an hour or so." she replied.  
Xavier smiled benignly.

Cayanne ducked, spun, and danced around the practice blows, muscles aching with the effort. She had gained a few bruises and an increased respect for timing in the last two hours, and was hard-pressed to not simply pass out from exertion.  
Logan had given her a_ gi_, one with a crest she didn't recognize on the left shoulder, and led her through a series of practice execises intented to gauge her skill.  
Both clad in black, the pair's sparring was marked by tangled shadows and the distant sounds of blows.  
With a sudden, incredibly fast movement, Logan dropped to the floor, whipping his foot around the girl's exposed ankle.  
Cayanne tumbled forward, choosing a roll rather than trying to catch herself, and came up, unable to restrain her gasping.  
With another combination, Logan's blow sent her back to her mat, but she kept coming back up, though the last time she looked quite wobbly on her feet, shivering unconciously in the cool of the improvised _dojo._  
Showing no sign of exertion himself, Logan lifted a hand, calling an end of the match.  
"Not bad." he conceeded.  
"Ya. Got. Through. My. Guard." wheezed the girl. "Coulda. Taken. Me. Anytime. _Oui?_"  
Straigtening, the other mutant decided to be straight with her. "Yeah."  
"Why. Didn't. Ya. Then?"  
"'Cause I didn't need to." Simple fact.  
Sharp, intelligent eyes studied his face. "Din what da point? I lose 'fore I start. In real fight, would be dead. Bloody, a'least."  
So, she was aware of the reality of her situation.  
Logan preferred it that way. It was possible to teach someone whose ego didn't get in the way of fact. If it did, it took a lot of work to force the lesson home. The match had revealed a great deal to his trained, warrior eye, more than even the girl was probably aware.  
Cayanne didn't fight, she danced. Oh, it could be injurous, and the grace and timing trained, but there was a passion there he had never seen in a student. A simple, burning, joy in life and learning that would make teaching her an adventure in of itself.  
"Lissen, Cayanne." His words were calm, even, spaced to get attention and hold it. "Yer good at whatcha do, right?"  
Her gaze was steady, held. _"Oui. _Most o' de time. I learn, get better._" _ Again, simple fact.  
"I'm the best at what I do, darlin'." His eyes were unreadable. "What's that tell ya?"  
The teen considered, then grinned impishly. "You de best, you teach me, must mean I could be good at dis, _oui?_"  
Good. No arrogance, no wavering. A perfect student - once he could teach, his way.  
"Good, darlin'. Yer learnin'."

Althea pleaded, badgered, and even whined, but Scott and Jean remained unmoved. Despite the tantrum that immediately followed, the pair refused to allow her to be included in the group going with Remy and Marie into town.  
"But I need to get some more clothes..." pled the young woman.  
"No you don't." Jean's arms were crossed, green eyes blazing. The girl had a wardrobe twice the size of most adults, yet always wanted more.  
"I haven't been able to leave the building..."  
Marie poked her head in the door. "Jean, we're almost ready." she said, pointedly ignoring Althea.  
"We'll be right there." Scott assured her, shooting his wife an exasperated look.

Remy headed across the lawn and into the forested area he knew Logan had set up hismakeshift _dojo _in. He knew that the other mutant would sense his presence long before he could speak, but he did anyway only feet from the door.  
"Logan? Ya'll finished, _mon ami?_"  
After a moment, Cayanne's slender form rocketed from the door, wrapping her arms around his waist.  
"_Papa!_" she yelled, happily, peering up into his eyes.  
Wrapping an arm around his daughter's waist, Remy grinned down at her, watching Logan emerge from the structure in jeans and a shirt.  
"What's up, Gumbo?" asked the Canadian, as Cayanne danced from foot to foot in typical tireless manner.  
"Marie and I go into town wit some o' de kids. You want come?"  
Logan regarded Cayanne, who grinned up at him.  
"The last time wasn't exactly a success, ya know."  
"Dis time I go wit dem. I keep eye out."  
"We stay'n practice, Logan?" Cayanne suggested, head cocked, eyes sparkling with mischeif.  
"Nah, look's like we'll be goin' too."

Althea sulked. She and Denise were in their shared room, fuming.  
"I can't belive that _we're _grounded!" groaned Denise, tossing her hair in annoyance. "If she hadn't caused all that trouble, we'd've been _fine._"  
"And to be stuck in this room doing _homework!_" wailed Althea. "Can you belive this? _Homework! _As if we were _children!"_  
"Something should be done about that brat." huffed the other girl. "Everything was _fine _until she showed up!"

Cayanne had one target for her visit, and not all the coaxing in the world would dissuade her - an antique bookstore called _The Philosopher. _Bounding from the van - this one was light grey, she noticed vaugely, in passing - she hopped impatiently from foot to foot next to her father, who grinned down at her.  
Scott regarded the small group sternly. "Everyone meet back here at 7 o'clock, on the dot." he told them, his voice carrying a tone of warning.

As she was not fond of coffee, Cayanne had purchased a book called _The Mabagnion, _and settled into a comfortable chair for some serious reading. The bookshop doubled as an old-fashioned coffee-house, so while she read she listened in on a series of discussions and arguments that drifted her direction on the dry, musty air.  
For her own part, she stayed quiet, preferring anonymity for the time being.  
It was when the conversation turned to "muties" that her mobile face wrinkled into a scowl.  
Two young men, well-dressed and obviously very self-assured, were arguing vehemently with one another. One took the side that mutants should be steralized at birth, thus making sure that the next generation would be human, while the other favored identification and strict laws preventing "inbreeding" of mutant and "human".  
She listened for a long time, until her sense of justice had simply been too outraged.  
"'Scuse me. You argue 'bout mutants, _oui?" _ she asked, after making her way to the pair.  
One young man peered up at her, eyes magnified behind strong glasses. "We are. Something needs to be done." he stated.  
"Mmm." Cayanne's voice carried the noncommential danger that would have sent her cousins running for cover were they in a conversation with her. "Your ideas, den, you stand by dem?"  
"Of course!" the first young man sputtered.  
"Certainly!" said the other.  
"Y'know, dere was man who once took de same road. He make de world take notice o' his problem. Make laws dat define line between people." she shrugged.  
"Really?" The first youth beamed, expression pleased.  
"He woulda seen ya as not good 'nough t' be 'lowed 't breed neither. Yer vision." Cayanne indicated his glasses, then turned to leave, pausing at the door. "One more thing. He write book. Really awful writer, but he write book anyhow. Maybe you should read."  
"What was his name?"  
"Adolf Hitler."

Eyes of fire, cold as ice, glared down without mercy on the trio gathered before them.  
_ You have failed me once more_. As it grew in strength, it cast out verbal speech, and the two soldiers - for by both stance and carried armament it was obvious this was their occupation - began to bleed from the nose.  
"There has been no failure." The man in the wheelchair spoke carefully, as those soulless, pitiless eyes swung around to regard him.  
"We know it's location."  
_ It is not in your custody_.  
"No, but...."  
_ I DO NOT TOLERATE "BUT"._  
With a scream of sheer agony, one of the guards began to bleed profusely from the ears.  
"Do not kill him, he is of use..." It was nearly a plea.  
_ The Other knows as well. How long before he retaliates? Think you for a moment he would hesitate to set the world ablaze to recover what you, in your mindless idiocy, took from him? Time is of the essance! Go! Bring my success to me! Do not presume to show yourselves to me until then!_  
"We know it lives, it is......."  
_ GO.  
_  
Cayanne found a place more comfortable to read in - high above the city streets, perched in a coil of stone carved in the form of a gargoyle. She was far more content in such a place than in the atmosphere she'd just left.  
Her roiling emotions were too intense to read by, so she contented herself with thinking.  
_ Why people hate mutants_? she wondered, absently swinging her lower leg almost as a metronome. _Most, dey do nothing. Just born, just tryin' grow up. Or sometimes, dey adult in body, but dere soul - well, I not a priest or nothin'. But I know if ya hurt someone long 'nough, dey gonna learn t' wanna do it back t'ya. How long 'til somethin' blow up? Why people not just leave other people 'lone?_  
But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't that simple. Many times, she and her cousins had come home bloody and battered, forced to fight simply because they were Acadian. Cajun was an acceptable word, but other terms - well, there was a line and they'd drawn it. And they'd fought for it as hard as if it were the Mason-Dixon Line. Even if they lost, they won. She knew that, but nursing and watching them nurse split lips and broken bones made it hard to believe.  
Then she sighed softly. That wasn't really true. She _did _belive, at least in some things. In her _Papa, _in her _Grandpere, _in Marie, Logan, Rafe, Nathan - the ones she belived in. _That _she belived. Which made sense, but then there was always the philosphy of the moment. Which side, which system, religion, nation, military - it was a list of things, factors, facets, that made people work together, at least on the surface.  
"_I belive dans celui I belive dans." _she said aloud, staring up at the slowly drifting clouds, defiantly. Let everyone else posture and threaten, she had drawn her line, and by it she would stand.  
It was then she heard the screams.

Huddled in the corner, blood streaming down his face, the boy cowered away from the man he had loved all his young life, arms coiled over the hideous gash in his head. Pain and terror made it impossible for him to move, much less defend himself, as blows crashed down on his battered body.  
He barely heard the window shatter, or the small form land gracefully a few feet from his tormenter.  
"Get out of here!" The voice, normally so deep and commanding, was shrill in it's demand.  
"So you c'n beat 'im som're?" Cayanne's was furious, as she saw the sobbing boy struggle to his knees, hands outstretched in a desperate, pleading gesture.  
The tall man kicked his hands away, wiping his hands on his finely-tailored jacket as though they were contaminated.  
A flickering nimbus appeared suddenly around the youth, deep purple near his body, burning gold as the air around him flickered and blazed. His eyes, upturned in an expression of dawning despair, suddenly burned brilliant gold. The air became almost unbreathable as the heat rose incredibly fast, the boy crumpling, writhing, screaming soundlessly in agony.  
Cayanne had one horrified moment to realize that the man intended to crash the metal implement - a finely made candlestick - down on the anguished boy's head, and she reacted, flipping him over her shoulder and charging to the suffering youth's side as the older man spat once on the downed youngster, then bolted out the door.  
The air crackled, and the smell of burning material reached Cayanne's sensitive nostrils, and she turned the youngster on his back, holding his head on her lap.  
He screamed in terror, clawing wildly at the air, and she caught his hands, struggling to make herself understood, reeling under the odd sense of vertigo that hit - _Surge! _- fear/panic/loss/need/ache/BURNING - and suddenly she _did _understand. In a way she couldn't describe. Not exactly like the feeling/thoughts she shared with her father, but _something._  
_ Hurts. _It was a sob, terror-laden, confusion, panic, deep hurt.  
Somehow she knew an attempt to reason with him, calm him, with words would be useless. So instinctively she resorted to another avenue. _Safe. _With it Cayanne _felt _a sense of calm. As strongly as she could. The calm that came when she _knew _when her father was there.  
He clung to her, eyes wild as the carpet caught, flames flickering into existance. The way to the door was quickly blocked off, and Cayanne was hard-pressed to keep projecting that sense of calm. She wrapped an arm around him, dragging him toward the window, hissing as an ember stung her wrist.  
Wishing with all her might for her to-be-mother's strength, she jerked hard - and went flying backwards, over the ledge with a yell.  
Her passanger screamed.  
She - _stopped. _Mid-air. A few inches below the ledge. Standing on the air as though it was a stair.  
Cayanne held on to the boy for dear life, closing her eyes and forcing herself to concentrate. _C'n do dis. Did before. Have to go down few inches. Den go in window where I came out. C'mon, c'mon, he need help!  
_  
Remy almost dropped his drink when he _felt _Cayanne's desperation. A brief sense/image of burning, her frustration, almost anger -  
Sliding gracefully from the stool, he managed to get out, "Cayanne!", before he charged from the bar.  
With a low growl, Logan tossed a few bills on the table, and followed his friend.

Cayanne had to resusitate the young victim three times, and didn't dare leave him for fear that he would simply slip away. His heart-broken sobs were matched by a dazed, frightened gaze, and he was gnawing his knuckles, his expression oddly childlike in it's openness.  
"It hurt now, but it get better." she promised, carefully wrapping her old shirt around the horrible, open gash in his head.  
His eyes, a beautiful shade of gas-flame blue, regarded her tearfully. "Huwts." he managed, around a throat constricted with sobs.  
Wrapping an arm around him, she crooned softly under her breath, then began to softly hum a lullaby.  
"Darlin', what happened?"  
She looked up into Logan's eyes, perched on the level above, flames flickering against the window behind him as he made his way down. Her father was next to him, swinging down from the ledge above the shorter mutant, flamelight flickering in the garnet of his eyes.  
"He hurt." Cayanne replied, aware that the boy had cried himself into a semi-concious stupor. She gave a gesture at her head, indicating the area of the injury. "Need t' get him down, but he..."  
The older mutant nodded understanding, then lifted the semiconcious youth into a fireman's carry, while her father immediately moved to her side, checking her for injuries.  
"_Papa._" she whispered, briefly burying her face in his shirt, feeling the reassuring press of his arms around her.  
She knew, somehow, that the boy Logan had settled carefully on his shoulder had lost what she had. It left an ache behind, one that could be filled with - what? Hate? Rage? No.  
The teen-ager looked up into the eyes of her father, saying nothing, but sharing through their bond a fierce devotion and love for him, sense/feeling his strong, deep love in return.  
That would fill the ache. That alone. She would remember always - to love, and know she was loved. It still hurt, but it would heal. In time. And she briefly squeezed his hand, managing a shaky smile.  
Logan glanced back, and caught a glance of the girl and her father starting down after him.  
Remy swung down after him, in case the precious burden he carried slipped.  
Cayanne hurried to follow, fumbling in her pocket for a quarter to call the fire department.

"You cause nothin' but trouble." snarled Lance, his tall frame leaned against the doorway.  
Hank was fretting over his newest patient, who remained unconcious - though he had sedated the youth to examine the terrible head injury that had nearly ended his life.  
Cayanne sat in a chair nearby, watching attentively, ignoring the boy.  
Marie scowled at the boy. "Ahm shure I didn't hear what I thought I did." she warned, hands clenched.  
"C'nsider de source." adviced the girl, ignoring the other teen-ager entirely. "We got more 'portant t'ings t'worry 'bout, _oui?"_  
"You got a point, darlin'." said Logan, coming in behind the blue-furred mutant.  
Remy was close behind him, and encircled the young woman with his arms.  
"He breathe better?" demanded Cayanne, standing up to provide better room.  
Hank smiled fondly at the girl, then regarded the adults with a "help-me-out-here" expression over her head.  
"Slightly. Cayanne, could you bring me another tray of sterilized instruments, if you please? Right side, in the lower labratory?"  
With a sharp nod, the girl slid down, then turned back with a trademark grin. "By de way, how long you want me take on dis little errand?" her voice was threaded with mischief.  
Remy chuckled, squeezing Marie close as the girl slipped out, leaving a bemused Hank McCoy staring after her.  
"What bother you, _mon ami?_" asked the Cajun, eyes sparkling.  
"The lad's head injuries..."  
"Bad?" Lance demanded, voice irritated.  
"Ya know, I'm sure there's somewhere else ya need to be." commented Logan.  
"But..."  
The Canadian's mutant's eyes hardened. "Now."  
One look at the danger there sent the boy almost running from the room.  
"He should be dead." said Hank, as he checked the monitors, tucking the blanket a bit closer to the still form. "I'm saying this with more than a little suprise, my friends." He looked up, eyes worried. "The amount of brain damage is massive, and as you know the brain does not regenerate..."  
"My God...he's - brain-dead?" Marie's voice was filled with horror. She leaned against Remy, unconciously seeking and reciving support.  
"He should be. But the brain has, for lack of a better term, rebuilt itself."  
Everyone stared at him.  
"However, the tissue is new. Electrical activity in the rebuilt areas has just begun, which leads me to belive..." His large hand went to rest behind his head, expression almost awed. "Well, he _should _have lost all brain function - that is likely why he was breathing intermittantly - the brain stem was damaged. All the higher brain functions were - disrupted. But they have simply restarted." He shook his head, eyes filling with tears. "This child has, if I am correct, lost all his memory. Of everything. His fragmented speech before sedation tells me that his only memories are of Cayanne and the fire. More precisely, Cayanne pulling him _out _of the fire."  
Unconciously, everyone glanced at Logan, who remained in the shadows, expression characteristally unreadable. He, too, had suffered from gaps in his memory, lost his past.  
"He lose - everything?" Remy's voice was soft with shock.  
"In essence, he is a small child in a teen-ager's body. When he regains conciousness, I am afraid that he is going to face a world terribly confusing and frightening to him."  
"His mutation..." began Marie.  
"Yes. Apparently, he manipulates a form of plasmic energy, much as our friend Scott does. The power is, of course, intermittant, and badly undeveloped, but there is another, serious issue..."  
There was a worried, attentive silence.  
"The damage is extensive, yes, but he will recover. Physically." Hank rubbed the back of his neck. "I believe that, in some way, Cayanne assisted in his recovery. In whatever manner, this boy's body was repaired. I do not know if Cayanne knows, but from her behavior, I doubt she is aware of the fact that our young guest is, in fact, reconstructed." He stared at his friends, speaking quietly. "Almost all the underlying flesh was necrotized. Burned so severely that it was ravaged beyond repair, almost - forgive me - but _liquified._ Then - reconstructed. Precisely. As though the DNA in is system was rebuilt, patterns in his brain somehow restored - it was not simply healing, but - at the risk of sounding extreme, _resurrected._"  
"_Mon Dieu._" whispered Remy, awed.  
"Part of her mutation. But I have a strange feeling that we are only beginning to understand what abilites that young woman possesses, hidden in her own mind."  
"Then we better help 'er find them." Logan's voice was steady, and he met Remy's instantly protective gaze without yielding. "I ain't suggesting we throw her in the Danger Room and see what happens, Gumbo, but we better be there for her."  
"We?" Marie broke the tension with her teasing tone.  
Logan lifted an eyebrow, then snorted. "Yeah." His next words, gruff to the point of being a growl, didn't fool his friends for a moment. "Looks like I'm in on this too."

In the lab, Cayanne stared into the mirror, memory stirring like a rising viper, ready to strike, as she slammed her fist into the glass, shattering the image that floated there, superimposed over her own.  
"_Non._" she whispered. Her expression was one of complete, abject horror.  
The voice in her mind was gentle, kind - and in pain. Terrible pain.  
_I have not forgotten your sacrifice. I need only a little more time._  
"C_e qui arrive à moi_?!?"she whispered, stumbling back, sliding down into the corner.  
_ It is time to begin_. The aching _need _in that voice was matched only by it's dignity_. I owe you a debt I may never repay. Remember me, remember...?_  
_ The...la dame dans le blanc_? The girl pressed her knuckled against her eyes. She was - she was what? The memory wouldn't come. Cayanne slammed her fist against the wall, frustrated and confused. _Why can't I 'member dis?_  
_ Do not concern yourself, little one._  
_ Don' you start_! the warning was almost reflexive.  
_ You do not remember. But you know. Do you not?_  
Cayanne's hands trembled. Once. Then her eyes lifted.  
_ T'night_. It would begin then.  
The voice faded.  
But the _knowing _of what she had to do remained.  
She put her head on her knees.  
Not sleeping,  
Waiting.  
Two people would be the beginning.  
Tonight.

Translations from the Cajun (French)

"_I belive dans celui I belive dans." _- "I belive in that I belive in."  
"_Ce qui arrive à moi_?!?" - "What's happening to me?!?"  
_The...la dame dans le blanc_? - The... the lady in the white?


	14. Interlude Shadows Against the Wall

SHADOWS AGAINST THE WALL

Ah, child. You do not know what it is to have tasted darkness, drank in it's heady scent, filled yourself with it's addiction. It is not a thing that may be gained simply by accident of birth, or simple violence, such things are simply the mark of disease, or primitive barbarity.  
Darkness is a living, if soullessly empty, thing, one that defies simple words such as "evil". Are hurricanes evil? Or storm-blackened seas? Yet do they not claim endless lives, mostly innocent ones?  
But darkness, ah, darkness. It is a melevolant voice, whispering obsenities to a child torn by fear and helplessness. It is a savage instant where a youth chooses to end a life to "prove" his worth. To what, might I ask?  
Darkness.  
It fills the most empty of voids so cunningly, so subtly, that it is rarely seen as one's true master until it is far too late.  
Yet even in the darkest of moments, you reached out to me. Looked into my eyes and saw - what? Many times, I have come close to asking. But your smile tells me whatever you saw, it was not darkness.  
Therein lies the question.  
Did I walk away, or did you reach out and catch me?  
Does it even matter?  
Deep in the night, I stare out into the shadows, and refuse their offer. Power has lessened in it's dark need in me. Perhaps there are other, more vital things I need that for so long darkness blinded me to.  
Simplier, less harsh desires Apocolypse would never consider.  
Warmth. Light. A place to call home, not simply a base of operations. Simple respect, if tinged slightly with unease.  
Yet Cayanne, for all her maddening, quixotic incomprehesiblity - and I am a man who craves comprehension - will charge into my arms when I walk in a door.  
Her embrace is not simply for a duplicate - a back-up - of my brother, but for me, myself, the man she sees.  
Oh, she will hug Nathan, and loves him without question, but then, is he not a simpler man to love?  
Our first unity of purpouse came from an unlikely source - a teen-age girl who simply loves us as we are, seperate, struggling for identity despite those that seek to define us otherwise. Nathan stuggles against his hatred of the Askani manipulation and his need to love his - our - sister, as I struggle against a deep well of rage against those who created me simply to be a duplication of him.  
Yet in that, we have found definition, all these long years. I hate him for being the "chosen" one, he hates me for all my attacks on him and his.  
And in the end, a new definition dragged me into the light of the X-Men mansion that night.  
We are united for the first time in our lives as - elder brothers - to a girl who loves us as we are.  
Darkness is a devious thing. Yet it was vanquished by the simplest of things.  
Is this faith?  
I wonder.  
Ah, well. There are things both good and - and. And better of being an elder brother.  
This morning, Cayanne has challanged Nathan and I to a game of "hide and seek".  
Little does she know, she has already found us both.


	15. Colors

******_CAJUN CINNAMON_**  
**Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle  
**  
Chapter XI  
**_"Colors"_**

  
_ White. Pain. One drop of red. Cleansing pain against a backdrop of torment. Shame. Slow ache of torture._  
Cayanne jerked herself back from the edge of a doze. Full awareness did not ease her feeling of inner turmoil.  
She tilted her head back, resting the top of her hair against the metal wall.  
Shadows danced and flickered and danced, and she knew the time for action was nearing.  
_ Forgive me_. her mental cry was totally silent, yet completely heartfelt.  
The whispers increased to an unbearable volume, wrapping her in maddening caucaphony.  
_ Non! Taisez-vous! Arrêtez!_  
Gritting her teeth, the teen-ager snatched up a shard of glass, swiping it across her open palm.  
The sharp pain blocked out the racket - for a moment. Only seconds later, the whisper-voices were back with a vengance.  
Cayanne slammed her aching hand against the wall, but this time, it had no effect.  
A voice emerged from the jumble, soft yet strong. Oddly familar.  
_ You gave me hope, a debt beyond repayment. Sleep, Cayanne._  
_ Wha...._  
_ Let me help you_. Images flickered and spun, brief flashes against madness. Vauge memory, misty and indistinct. Confusion.  
_ I call Rafe n' Nathan..._  
_ No. They cannot do this. Do not fear._  
_ Qu'arrive à moi?_  
_ This we planned, Cayanne. It shall be done. Sleep now._  
Exausted, confused, the girl crumpled before she could fight it off, sleep claiming her mind.  
When she lifted her eyes, they were not her own. Something lurked behind them, looking through them, examining it's surroundings.  
_ Ah, child_. it thought_. I shall do this for you - yet also for me. Sleep, little one._  
One foot followed the other up the stairs.  
It was time.

The boy was stable, breathing steadily in the metal hospital bed. Hank checked the monitors one more time, then breathed a sigh of relief. Though obviously still injured, the lad was out of mortal danger and on the mend.  
He had shooed the others out of the MedBay with admoditions to get some rest themselves, and turned his full attentions on the injured youngster in his care. His cracked ribs were carefully wrapped in feather-soft, durable cloth; and his head injury - now barely visible - was bandaged with a finely woven material that would slowly fall away as the wound healed.  
Stretching, the blue-furred mutant slid off his stool, padding over to the bed. Unconcious or not, the youngster radiated a kind of wounded innocence only found in the very badly abused or neglected. It was clear that, in many ways, though he was physically a teen-ager, psychologically he was badly injured.  
Hank shook his head sadly. If not for Cayanne, it was almost certain that this poor boy would be dead - or simply in a vegative coma, body clinging to life while his mind deteriorated beyond repair. Even with telepathic intervention, it would take months - even years - for him to fully recover. Physically.  
Rubbing his knuckles into his eyes, the physician reluctantly made his way down the hallway to his room for a brief nap. He stretched out, eyes closing, and was asleep before he could think about it.

_Step. Foot forward. Step... _The drone of almost-no-thought kept the Presence from losing control of the young form it possessed temporary control over. It exulted, briefly, in the sensations of simply being alive. Yet nothing distracted from the mission it knew must be done. In exchange for the selfless gift recieved, it swore to aid the youngster. Such oaths were not to be taken lightly.  
The first door loomed in front of her, and it rested a hand against it.  
After this was done, two people would be - changed. .  
Cayanne had so been concerned that this would be - invasion at best, rape at worst. Yet she had agreed. To allow the Presence to control her body, to do what had to be done. Though she understood - on at least one level - the _why_, she did not understand the necessity of the _how. _Yet the alternative - two souls would remain in torment. One forever condemned to a loss, the other struggling with a torment unexpressed and undeserved.  
The sleeping conciousness would not remain long. It would have to be done swiftly, before the girl regained conciousness, again sending the Presence to it's rightful place in the background.  
There was no turning back. The Presence pressed lightly on the door, stepping swiftly into the shadows.

Zane and Liam were asleep when Justin shook them lightly. Liam was, as always, afraid to be alone and had curled up with his best friend, thin body taking up precious little space.  
_"Ssssomething's wrhooong." _Justin's speech was sibilant, soft, and unless one got to know him, sinister.  
Zane's arm went around his friend, who had sat up so fast he nearly fell out of the bed.  
Justin folded his wings tight agaist his back. _"Nnooot Liiiam's rrreeeeal looook." _the young mutant soothed. _"Caaaayane. Ssssomething's wrhooong."_  
"We gotta find her. C'mon, Liam." Zane bounded from the bed, aware of Liam and Justin rushing to follow him.

The Presence had slid into an almost-trance by the time it reached the X-Man's bedside.  
Lifting her hands to rest inches above his chest, she concentrated, aware of a flicker of movement in response. Pores in the skin opened, and fiber-thin fillimants emerged, flowing swiftly from deep beneath the skin, within the bones, of the mutant known as Wolverine.  
The fillimants flowed upwards, at the same time Logan's body _changed, _flowing through several forms - feral, then almost animal, then back, then - what? A man, same as before, but - _right. _This form. It was - _right. _A section of his mind, long sleeping, hidden from him - what _happened _to him??!! - woke, flowing into his awareness-behind-awareness. Damage was repaired. Changes occured. And he was - _right. _So the child would have known. _Right._  
Logan slept, and the Presence stumbled from the room, slumping against the wall.  
One down. One to go.

Justin lay a hand on the stone, reciving an "imprint" of passing bodies. However, he was still unsure of his power, and the fact that he was unsure of _when _certain people passed made his psychometric gift iffy at the moment.  
Zane turned to Liam, who had pulled his face mask on to hide the failure of his illusion-self. He knew the younger boy was terrified of being seen as he was, but this was an emergancy. If he was right, Cayanne was in deadly trouble.  
"I shoulda listened to you to begin with, Liam." the young mutant said, by way of apology. "We gotta get help."  
"The older ones won't listen." whisper-said the young, dark-haired boy. "They think we are not quite right, you know."  
"Then we go over their heads. To Mr. Summers."

The Presence had reached the second, final target.  
Standing over Scott's bed. Staring down at him. Watching him sleep.  
Barely aware of the thought, it lifted his glasses from the nightstand, feeling the coolness of the lenses. Cayanne's sensitive fingertips quickly found the points they joined the frames, and with a simple flick of thumb and forefinger, popped the ruby quartz from the housing. Carefully, the Presence replaced the frames, then stacked the lenses a bit out of Scott's reach.

A momentary _Surge, _like nothing he had ever sensed, Xavier, for a split second, to lose conciousness. His telepathic sensitivity had simply - overloaded.  
Cayanne?

Zane and Liam were hiding behind the Medbay door while Justin hung, bat-like, from the cieling-beam above them.  
"Where'd she go?" whispered Zane, shifting his wieght slightly.  
"She would go far away from the ones she loves." replied Liam, also in a whisper. "If she thinks she was bad."  
"We gotta say."  
_ "Whree do nhot khnoow foor shuuur thaat yhooou ahrrre rhiiiight_." pointed out Justin, from his perch.  
"If I'm wrong, no harm done. If I'm _right_, it might help."  
_"Iiiif yhooou ahrrre rhiiight, thehnn shee iss ihnn dhaannger_?" Half a question.  
"She's not the type to just roll over and let life run her down. I think I _am _right, and we better warn Summers before she gets too far. You know what could happen, guys."  
_"Therrre iss alrhedddy dhaannger." _Justin's wings extended, whisper-silent, then retracted.  
Zane ran his hand through his white-blonde hair, and exhaled softly. "I hope not."  
Liam looked down, but Zane rested a hand on his shoulder, and Justin's tail came around to rest gently on his shoulders.

Logan's shout woke everyone on his floor, and Scott actually fell off the bed in a wild attempt to grab his glasses. Snatching the frames, he tossed them haphazardly on his face, saw Jean swim into vision, realized there was no red and tried frantically to close his eyes - but nothing happened.  
No blast of energy, no flash-blaze of fiery destruction_, nothing._  
"J-j-jean?" he whispered, eyes huge behind the mutilated frames. He saw red hair, he had always known she had fiery masses of red hair, but her eyes were green. Green? He hadn't seen green since he was seventeen years old, since his power took away everything but red in his vision. She was speaking, he was aware of chaos around him, people running, the Professor's telepathic voice trying to calm everyone down - Warren's wings, white as clouds, spread slightly in alarm. Bobby's tousled blonde hair in a mop. Colors. So many _colors._  
_ Scott_? Jean's telepathic voice wrapped around him, soothing, calming, sensing his wonder and confusion.  
Logan barrelled out of his room like a frieght-train on it's way to no good. "WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED??!!" he roared, eyes blazing.  
Everyone was gaping.  
Scott whispered, "Logan?"  
The athletic, sharp-featured man stood eye to eye with him, hazel eyes blazing from blue, to green, to a feral gold, grey, and back again. He was waving his arm around in something between fury and a kind of bewildered shock. "Look!" he commanded. With a "snickt", his claws popped out, curving slightly in the dim light.  
The change was as great as between a machete and a _katana _- the glitter was not metal, but swirling palely, almost unnoticably, with inner light.  
_ I suggest an immediate meeting_. Xavier's voice was gentle, surrounding them all but not drowning out the increasing babble.  
"Warren...look at your hand." whispered Bobby, though everyone heard him.  
The winged mutant glanced down, his blue eyes widening with shock. The skin was fair, if pale, like a man too long out of the sun. But no longer what he privately called "corpse blue". Normal. Tingling with life.  
They all stared at one another, Logan pacing back and forth, growling under his breath.

Cayanne held her hands over her ears, pulled her knees up to her chin, and tried frantically to force out the whispers. They were all around, hissing softly, and she almost wished she'd fall from the tree. Anything to make it _stop._  
Her father's voice, calling from the window below. "I know you hear_, peu d'ange_." Voice worried, but - no anger? None? That confused her, and she crawled down, awkward with uncharacteristic confusion. She dropped to the windowsill, tried not to flinch. More than anything, she could not bear his disappointment.  
Marie in the background, sitting up on the bed. The room like but not like the one her father had in New Orleans.  
She closed her eyes.  
Remy wrapped his arms around her, held her tight, cheek against her hair.  
Cayanne clung to him. It was all that mattered.

Logan stretched several times, twisting his frame from side to side to get the feel of the new inches. Muscles responded faster than he would have expected, and he made a mental note to do some serious workouts in the Danger Room.  
Scott was staring at the walls, the cieling, the lights, edges of books, eyes unshielded and so blue they seemed to be an impossible shade. He was almost in shock, and Jean had a protective arm around him.  
Warren wanted to get out of the room, out of the mansion, and into the sky. His wings trembled slightly, though he did not spead them, indicating his disquiet.  
After the initial din had settled a bit, Xavier spoke carefully, quietly. "Does anyone feel ill?"  
Logan growled, and Scott reached over, almost without thinking, and rested a hand on his shoulder.  
Jean's voice was worried. "What happened?" she asked, running a hand through her hair.  
"I think dat more _who _happen' better question_, non_?" Remy eased the door closed behind him. He glanced about once, then addressed the Professor. "Cayanne come down from her tree few minutes ago." His gaze blazed a moment. "Say she want leave, but dat not it. Somethin' scare her near to death, and she not scare easy."  
Xavier regarded him steadily, and the younger mutant glanced at Logan, blinked, then regarded the still-somewhat-distracted Scott.  
_"Ampèreheure_." was all he said.

Cayanne was packing. She didn't want to think, so she was being meticulous in folding. Her stomach was in knots, and her head was pounding, making her eyes sting - or so she kept telling herself.  
Marie had finally left her alone, worried gaze following her out, and the teen heard the chatter and thumps of her age-mates off to class.  
_ Look like be an'ther absence_. she thought, trying hard not to allow bitterness in.  
A knock made her jerk upright, and she almost angrily flung the door open - to reveal Professor Xavier.  
_"Que voulez-vous_?" she snapped, then kicked herself. With a sigh, she opened the door wider.  
Xavier looked around, then turned his eyes back to the teen-ager. "Would you like to talk about it?" he asked, gently, closing the door gently behind him.  
"What dere to talk about?" Cayanne glared, clenched her fists. _"Mon Dieu_, don't you understand? I -"  
"Cayanne." His hand touched her gloved one, and he felt her tense. Gently, but firmly, he pressed down until she sat on the bed, one leg over the other, eyes guarded. "I think this is the moment you are going to have to choose whether to make a stand or run away."  
_ "What_?!" it was almost a yell. She exploded, "Don' you _un'nerstand_?! I _worse _than betray! God only knows what I did! Invade - against _ever'thig _I believe in! What dat make me??!! Hypocrite at least!" The girl was almost raving, so furious was she, and her blazing eyes made Xavier suddenly glad he was not her enemy.  
"Why did you do it?" he asked, folding his hands.  
She rose, paced, said nothing for a moment. Clearly she thought he would leave, but finally she said, "It sound silly."  
"Ah. Well, I can assure you I have done my share of foolish things." he commiserated.  
Cayanne stood at the window, said nothing for a moment, then growled, _"Une Voix m'a indiqué _."  
"A Voice?" He kept his voice very gentle.  
_"Oui_. You happy now? I hear t'ings." She slammed the suitcase shut.  
"What kind of things?"  
Through gritted teeth, "Voices. Sometimes, too much. Not loud-too-much_, too-many_-too-much."  
"Cayanne, I hear things also." He blocked the door, spoke with gentle, yet unyielding authority. "And I know, from your father and you yourself, you are not in the habit of running. Something terrified you."  
"'C'n take care o' m'self." she growled, but he caught an instant of uncertainty, and his heart went out to her_. Poor child, to try to face this alone_! He would have gone mad if not for the few friends who had stayed by his side as his own telepathic abilities manifested. The terror, the vunerability, the mind-numbing _panic _had been almost more than he could bear.  
But she didn't need, or want, varnish or trite comments, she wanted the truth. He was going to have to be strong enough to give it to her, now, or he - and the others - would lose her. And he suddenly felt a surge of pain at the thought of the quixotic youth leaving them based on the terror of her slowly manifesting gifts.  
"Cayanne, you are a telepath."  
She stared at him, eyes widening slightly as the suitcase fell from nerveless fingers. _"Non_." she whispered.  
Xavier had heard men face death, amputation, madness, with less horror in their tone.  
"It cannot harm you." He made his voice comforting as he could, sensing her roiling emotions. She defined telepathy as invasion, manipulation - rape. Xavier knew he had to reach her, or the strain would drive her mad.  
Or worse.  
"Listen to me, child..."  
Her fist balled, eyes blazing, and he closed his hand over it, speaking quietly. "You may hit me if you wish, but first, listen to me. Your telepathy can be a precious gift." His voice stayed even, honest, firm. "Do you know how many minds can only be saved through telepathic intervention? Children sometimes come here half-mad with terror, or so traumatized they have withdrawn past conventional medicine's ability to aid them." His dark eyes held her's. "They are condemned to a life of insitutionalizaion, abandonment, lonliness, for the rest of their lives; but your gift can set them free."  
The girl's fist loosened, just a little, and he knew she was listening.  
"The mind is a complex thing, Cayanne. Far beyond medical experiance, the telepath can touch a part of the soul that normally could never be healed. It is not a curse, child. It can be a blessing."  
"You call me chile' again an' I sock you." she muttered, but he sensed a great deal was going on in her mind, a struggle between past terror and current events.  
"That is - quite fair." he conceeded, watching her.  
"An' you want teach me dis - telep'thy_, oui_?"  
"To help you master it, yes."  
Her gaze was thoughtful. "Not have to stop school?" she demanded.  
Xavier fought down a sigh of relief. She was back, shaking terror off her in almost palpable waves as she determinedly made a step forward. "I would not dream of it." he promised.  
The grin he got back was pure mischief. "An' you not gonna tell me how t' think, right?" A bit of a warning.  
"Cayanne, I could not if I tried."  
_"Oui. Très vrai_." A long, tenative pause, then she asked quietly, "Others mad?"  
"Angry?" Xavier regared her thoughtfully. "I believe you should ask them."

Logan spun, whirled, and dodged through the simulation he reserved for "real workouts", aware that although the body had changed - slightly - he was still it's master. He was faster than he'd ever been, and many times hit targets before he was aware of the fluid movement that dispatched them.  
His claws were the real change. Once - as it was designed to - he plunged them into electronic tubing, aware his skeleton should conduct - painfully - the electrical current. Instead, he felt like a cat who had walked across a thick carpet. He touched the plastic, and tiny electical arcs discharged. It took almost half an hour to discharge completely, and he bounded from the Danger Room feeling - _alive. _His body had healed so fast that blood barely escaped, and clearly fatigue toxins weren't making it into his bloodstream.  
If he hadn't smelled her, he might well have run Cayanne down.  
She looked up at him, her grin slightly hesitant. "_Bonjour, _Logan." she began, watching him closely. "Got question?"  
He wrapped the towel around his neck, and waited.  
"Wonderin' if you - _fâché avec moi_?" There, she'd said it. The teen watched him, hiding carefully her heart pounding in her throat. She had aleady hugged Rafe and Nathan good morning, and gone looking for Logan right after.  
For a long moment the Canadian mutant stared at the teen-ager, mouth hanging slightly open, then he roared with laughter. "Don't tell me yer worried about _that, _darlin'?" he demanded, staring down at her.  
A bit taken aback, she managed, "I invade yer privacy...."  
Logan shook his head. "Darlin', lissen." He crouched down, looking straight into her eyes. "I may be a Canucklehead in a lot o' things, but I'm pretty good at judgin' people I think of as friends. So, how 'bout you worry more about th' next sparrin' session yer due?"  
She stared up at him, then grinned wryly. "Prepare t' be well and truly whapped, Wolverine!"

Cayanne had no chance to apologize to Scott. The moment she was opening her mouth, he charged her, lifted her off the ground, and held her tightly, then spun her around so fast she wasn't sure whether to feel dizzy or call the paddy wagon.  
"You not upset?" she asked, startled by his odd behaviour.  
"Upset? _Upset?!_" He rested his hands on her shoulders. "Cayanne, because of you...." He looked around, trying to find a way to translate his joy at seeing colors again into a concept the teen-ager could readily understand. "Because of you, I can look into my wife's eyes and see how beautiful a green they are, how - beautiful they are, and she is." He whispered, and he saw Jean's eyes fill with tears. His own were shining. "How truly lucky I am."  
Cayanne glanced over at Jean, then grinnned. "Yer's are nice blue, her's green. Nice together." she commented, then wandered off, grinning to herself.

"Nathan! Catch!" yelled Cayanne, cannoning past the tall X-Man with a group of boys hot on her heels. Turning on her heel, she dodged back the other way, springing in the air to field the throw just as she reached the end zone, narrowly missing being run down by her own team.  
"_Ttttouchdhowwn!" _called Justin, from his perch high in the rafters.  
"Cheat!" yelled Lance, almost dancing in fury.  
"Wimp!" Cayanne shot back, grinning evilly.  
"Loser!"  
"Hah! This from som'one down 8 points."  
"::sputter:: Cheat!"  
Cayanne rolled her eyes.  
Althea stood ramrod-straight, looking down at Cayanne. "Children shouldn't play...." she began, then looked up at the younger teen, disbelivingly nursing a bleeding lip from a position on the the ground.  
"Ya got a problem, _Blondie._" growled the young Cajun, fist still balled. "Want me t' fix it? No charge."  
Nathan had never in his life broken up a fight between enraged teen-agers, but he loomed over the older blonde, arms crossed and expression coldly neutral.  
"You wouldn't dare!" Althea snarled, leaping to her feet.  
Cayanne promptly knocked her back down.  
Zane came charging to the Cajun's side, with Liam moments behind him. Justin uttered a low, sibilant hiss audible across the entire field, eyes flooding red and beginning to glow.  
"You're only strong when you've got your friends behind you!" Althea yelled, frustrated beyond belief.  
The young Cajun's grin was positively feral. "Dey not interfere." She crouched slightly. "So, you apologize now 'r after I wipe dis grass wit you?"  
Althea sputtered, then launched herself at her rival, who was by no means foolish enough to remain a target for someone with super-strength.  
Spinning with balletic grace, Cayanne swatted the blonde on the back as she went by, sending her face-first into the grass.  
Nathan, feeling completely out of his element, did the only thing he could think of, and did it almost by reflex. He sent out a telepathic yell.  
_Stryfe!!!  
_  
Stryfe came out the back door to see Cayanne leaping over Althea's attempts to strike her, all the while throwing out taunts along with strategically placed swats. The blows were not even overly damaging, but the effect was the young Cajun kept knocking her older opponent down.  
The other kids had gathered around, yelling encouragement and shouting invecatives - much like any other group of teens and preteens would have when a fight broke out among their number.  
Nathan was in the thick of it, trying to decide wether to grab Althea and force the fight to end or stay out of it.  
_Leave them. _Stryfe's advice came from the other side of the circle, tinged with slight amusement.  
_She could be badly hurt. _objected the other telepath, eye beginning to glow.  
_The blonde girl stands not a chance at all, brother. _Stryfe met his "twin's" gaze, humor glinting in his normally unreadable eyes. _This has been a long time coming.  
_  
Logan could have disiplined Cayanne for fighting, for "misusing" her new skills, but he saw no reason. The young teen had finally called an end to the battle by simply grinning and walking away, a clear triumph considering her temper.  
"She could have been killed!" objected Scott, who was furious more at Althea for picking the fight than Cayanne for answering the challenge. Still...  
Remy snorted laughter. "_Pas une chance dans l'enfer, mon ami._"  
Jean was fighting down a smile herself, as she patted her husband's arm reassuringly.  
"Cayanne's a scrapper, Althea was lucky t' walk outta there instead of bein' carried." Logan's grin was one of a teacher who saw their student excel. "Taught the brat a lesson in manners."  
Remy grinned at his friends. "Cayanne not put up with de foolishness, and now maybe t'ings get better." he commented.

Cayanne found a change in her schedule that nearly had her lose her composure. Once a week, she had to report to Byron, and twice a week to Professor Xavier.  
_Merveilleux, un rétrécissement et un telepath. _she thought, savagely. _Dey not gonna mess wit my mind, not now, not ever! _Her fury was so intense that she felt a mental "question", a kind of "knock" against her mental shield.  
_What?! _she demanded, so outraged that she didn't care _which _telepath heard the mental yell.  
_I take it you found the schedule update. _Xavier's voice was mild.  
_I not talk to no shrink, Xavier. You losin' yer mind along with yer hair? _she snarled back.  
She sensed slight amusement at the accusation, then a light sigh.  
_Your telepathic abilites leave you vunerable, Cayanne. _Xavier sensed the girl bridle at that, but went on with gentle patience. _Byron will not attempt to tamper with your mind, only help you understand it._  
_ I un'nerstand my mind, t'ank you very little._  
_ Do you? _Gently, carefully, but a brief flash of the recent events sent the girl back a mental step.  
There was a long pause, another battle with inner fears and outer temper, and finally she grumbled, _One try._  
_ Let us make an agreement, Cayanne. If you see Byron thrice, I shall remove it from your schedule and you may see him only at your liesure._  
A flash of impudence. _Two times._  
_ For ninety minutes each. _Slightly more than the regular - by ten minutes - but then, Xavier sensed the need in the girl to reclaim her independance. Push too hard, and she would refuse all together, back off and her respect for him would decrease. A careful game, in which he could not afford to lose. The stakes were far too high.  
A mental snort. _Sixty minutes each. _she returned.  
_Sixty-five._  
_ Done. _And Cayanne's mental presence withdrew.  
Xavier felt abruptly the space left by that vivid, quixotic presence, and smiled to himself. It was a beginning.

Translations from the Cajun (French)

_Non! Taisez-vous! Arrêtez! - _No! Go away! Stop!  
_Qu'arrive à moi? _- What's happening to me?  
_peu d'ange - _little angel  
_Ampèreheure - _"Ah."  
_Que voulez-vous? _ - What do you want?  
_Une Voix m'a indiqué _. - A Voice told me to.  
_Oui. Très vrai_. - Yes. Very true.  
_fâché avec moi? _-You mad at me?  
_Pas une chance dans l'enfer, mon ami_. - Not a chance in hell, my friend.


	16. Mind Games

******_CAJUN CINNAMON_**  
**Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle  
**  
Chapter XII  
**_"Mind Games"  
_**  
****Cayanne was one of the few members of the student body who enjoyed homework. One factor was the intrest level - Hank had taken a special intrest in her facination with genetics and biotechnology, and happily assigned her a variety of projects she all but bulldozed through in her enthusiasm.  
She also discovered a love of "tinkering", involving her spending hours one evening writing her own operating system, since Microsoft Windows bored her. Computer graphics, three-diminsional modelling, programming - and a few sideline hacking self-assignments more out of curiousity than anything had Scott put her in charge of securing the mansion's computer systems. It was rather like putting the fox in the henhouse, but Cayanne proved an innovative sort, and soon was happily patching several holes she found in the main systems. Of course, she wasn't above keeping a few "back doors" to herself, but then, that was the challenge.  
Gym class became less intresting after a few sparring matches with Logan, who soon learned - after once getting whacked on the head by a spinning quarterstaff - that if there was one afront his young protege wouldn't tolerate, it was going easy on her. After that, battles between them had strict time-limits, and a certian series of signals that ended a bout when he could tell she was on the verge of physical collapse.  
In all, she enjoyed the idea of stretching her mental muscles along with her physical ones, and almost literally ran cirlces around Scott, who was beginning to wonder if one of her abilites was to never run out of enthusiastic energy.  
Even so, in computer class, she found herself trying to forget her appointment with Professor Burke. Running her fingers swiftly over the touchpad, the teen-ager accessed his public file - multiple degrees (in psychiatry, neurosurgery, pediatrics, and emergancy medicine), along with two oddities - one in archeology and another in astronomy - along with a long list of published articles - so he was pro-mutant, intresting note there - and several thesis.  
_Well, least he not total loss. _she thought half-hopefully to herself as Miss Munroe - it was still hard to think of her as Ororo while class was in session - dismissed the students for Literature.  
"Have you picked your Classics Project, Cayanne?" the dark-skinned woman asked, smiling at the youngster.  
The teen grinned back impishly. "Picked? Already done, Miss Munroe." she replied, tucking her sketchbook under her arm absently. "Did it on Shakespeare."  
Her gentle blue eyes lit with intrest. "Which play?" she asked, as she cleared her desk.  
"No play, did't on him."  
"I doubt Scott will consider him a "classic"...." the storm goddess began.  
"Classic," quoted Cayanne, her expression mischevious. "De etymology from de French _classique _- which from de Latin _classicus, _highest class o' Roman citizizens. Bein' a standard o' excellece. _Oui? _Historically mem'ble. Noted fer special lit'rary or histor'cal associ'tion." She grinned again. "Describe de Bard pretty well, _pas vous parole_?"  
Ororo couldn't resist a smile in reply. "That is rather a - unique answer." she commented, closing the desk drawer.  
The girl paused in the doorway, expression one of complete innocence. "_Juste élargissant mon esprit, _ma'am." Then she was gone, leaving the weather mutant chuckling despite herself.

Cayanne leaned against the wall, counting mentally to one thousand. The way she saw it, if the shrink didn't show up in two more minutes, she was finding another place to be. Fast. He was late.  
She glared at the oaken door, then leaned back into the shadows, watching the shadows.  
_Neuf mille des, neuf mille deux..._  
The door opened.  
_Damnez-le! _the girl cursed silently, unfolding herself from the wall.  
A tall man with suprisingly young features stepped through the door, and smiled a greeting.  
"Hello. You must be Cayanne." he said, in a pleasent baritone.  
"_Oui."_ She glared past him into the room, noting the neatly arranged books, the wide window - the leather couch.  
Stretching, this Professor commented, "Well, I've been cooped up all morning writing more boring articles for stuffy old gentlemen who'll probably never read them, what would you say to having our chat outside?"  
The teen-ager watched him warily, then shrugged.  
He opened the outer door for her, and they proceeded down the back hallway and out into the sunlight.  
"Well," he said, smiling again as they walked, "my name is Byron. I absolutely loathe Professor, it makes me feel ancient. A pleasure to meet you."  
Cayanne's expression was mildly bemused.  
"Charles tells me you have no great fondness for us shrinks."  
The teen-ager grinned suddenly. "Shrink?"  
He smiled. "Well, it sounds much better than "professor laurate", which is simply preposterously arrogant, don't you think? Besides, I _am _a shrink." His expression was warm. "And just to be fair, yes, I am a mutant. My abilities are empathic, deductive, and gravatonic."  
"'Least you up-front." said Cayanne, cautiously. Though she tended to stand by her decisions, it was obvious the man was trying his best to make her feel at ease. Though wary, the girl was amused to feel some of the hostility drain away.  
Byron chuckled. "Growing up with a younger sister, I was forced to be a bit on the diplomatic side." he said, with an air of inner amusement.  
"Yer sister here, isn't she?" Cayanne's eyes narrowed suddenly behind her glasses. Burke. "You Althea's brother."  
"Yes, Cayanne. I am." He regarded her with warm, bright blue eyes.  
The teen tensed. "You an empath, but don' t'ink you c'n tinker wit my head." she growled, hands balling into fists.  
Byron held up his hands, his voice soft but earnest. "I would not - and honestly could not - manipulate you, Cayanne. I've used my gift to soothe, never to harm. I take my Hippocratic Oath quite seriously."  
Cayanne's sharp, almost feral features were taut for several seconds before she seemed to uncoil.  
"You got question. Ask. Den we go from dere."

"She is extrordinary." said Byron, sipping his hot spiced tea as he leaned back in his chair. "And normally I could identify her abilites..."  
"But?" Xavier encouraged, taking a cautious sip of his own steaming coffee.  
The younger man sighed. "I detect a natural shield. A massive one, and I think I know _why _you are having so much difficulty narrowing down her abilities."  
Xavier waited, watching as Byron absently began to tinker with the small Lego set he always had on his person.  
"I think she is effectively immune to any mutant - or any effect - she is exposed to" He closed his eyes, long fingers spinning the tiny pieces through his hands. "An evolved immune system."  
The telepath was silent for a long moment. "Yet I can still sense her." he said, quietly.  
"Because she's not aware of the abilites she's beginning - yes, I said _beginning _- to manifest. On a deep, subconcious level, that girl is afraid of losing her father's approval more than death itself. That is acting as a - call it a buffer. Something happened to her in her past, something so horrible she can't face it, or even bring it to concious thought. Something she's perfectly willing to die before letting her father discover."  
"You have a theory." It wasn't exactly a question. Byron had a tendancy to go off on tangents, and Xavier had become accustomed to reeling him back in.  
"Yes, and it isn't pretty." Byron's eyes, an ususual shade of blue that was closer to violet, stared into Xavier's. "Abuse. Definately physical and psychological. But to cause this much secrecy in someone of her nature - it would have to be monsterous."

Cayanne came into the kitchen in a t-shirt and jeans, opened the cabinet above the counter, found a plastic glass near the back, and filled it with ice-cold water from the dispenser.  
It was then she noticed her hands were shaking - and aching.  
She scowled, glared at the offending appendages, closed her eyes, gulped down the icy drink.  
Opened them to see Justin padding into the room, wings lock-folded across his chest.  
His demon-reptilian head rose slightly on the arch of his neck, horns glinting in the light.  
_"Yhooou dhooo nhooot lhooook whelll." _he commented, sibiliant voice sliding over the vowels.  
"It nothin'." she replied. "How yer wing, flyboy?"  
In a sparring match, Althea had stomped on his wing and Justin had promptly bit her. Considering the needle-sharp, serrated teeth his long jaws boasted, it was lucky he had not used the full force of it or she would have lost an arm. As it was, listening to the older mutant shriek over such a tiny amount of blood had grated on Cayanne's nerves.  
Justin's prismatic eyes blinked once, nicitating membrane sliding almost invisibly over the flickers of colors. _"Zzhaane iss dissspleaasssed." _He emphasized the last word enough that heard the rumble in the words.  
"She not worth it. You tell him behave." she chided, giving the taller mutant a friendly swat on the shoulder.  
His tail did an unconcious dance on the tiles as he crouched, digigrade legs making him lean forward slightly. _"Zzhaane whilll sssay thhee saaahm ffooor hhheeer." _he observered, humor in his tone.  
For the last week, Althea had all but driven the younger members of the student body to distraction in attempts to rouse a fight. Zane was held back only by Liam's pleas. The other three were not as familiar with the older girl, and thus managed to avoid the worst, while Justin simply would grin, showing all his fangs, enough to disconcert any sensable soul.  
Cayanne's eyes tipped up to sparkle into her friend's."Tell Zane, Liam, Fabian, Graham an' Brendan t' meet me t'night at de midnight hour in de forest near de school."  
Justin's jewel-sparkling eyes flickered with inner light_. "Wwhhhat sssshaaall Ihi teehlll thhhem iiis thhee whhyy?"_  
Silver glinted in her eyes as she grinned. "Tell dem we get ready t' do some funky poachin'."

The six young mutants gathered around the old oak, just as Cayanne slid down from her perch, her battered backpack boucing loosely on her shoulder.  
"Tell me you have a plan." groaned Zane, shifting against the limb poking his shoulderblade.  
"Oh, I got plan." Cayanne's grin was pure mischeif. "Now, we need work all as team. Here, Zane - you an' Liam take dis." She passed them two cans of paint and a pot of glue "liberated" from the art department. "Fab, you an' Gray take de feathers. Justin, you gonna be our eye in de sky." She rubbed her hands together in glee. "We got one hour in and out."  
"The security..." began Graham, his tall, muscular form crouched next to Fabian's thinner one.  
Cayanne grinned. "De fox in de henhouse, an' I know where all de chickens sleep."

Scott nearly rolled over Jean when he heard the scream.  
Charging from his room, he saw Stryfe and Nathan seated serenely, one reading the newspaper while the other turned a page in his novel, completely unaffected.  
Scott and Jean were met half-way by Ororo and Marie, with Remy bringing up the rear, yawning hugely.  
The leader of the X-Men stood there in his pyjama bottoms, gawking in complete disbelief.  
Althea Burke stood in the hallway, dripping feathers, makeshift tar, and pink paint on the carpet while screaming, "I'll get you for this, Cayanne! I don't know how you did it, but I'll _get _you for this!"  
Cayanne was leaning against the wall, eyes wide and innocent. "An' you got proof, Blondie? Heaven," and she placed a gloved hand over her heart, "how _could _ya t'ink such a t'ing o' me."  
"You...you..." The shriek was unintelligable.  
"Chicken in de henhouse...." hummed the Cajun teen, snapping her fingers as she passed her grinning father, tossing a jaunty little salute at the disbeliving Cyclops. She threw a companionable arm around Zane and Liam's shoulders, guiding them down the stairs, the rest of the old folk song drifting after them.

Logan fought down laughter. "Tarred and feathered." he said, carefully lifting a piece of _sashimi _to his mouth. "Sounds like she's gettin' serious." His voice was amused.  
"I'm hoping Cayanne will let this go." said Scott, chewing absently on his pan-fried hamburger. "It's getting out of hand."  
The other mutant snorted.  
"Someone could get hurt." added Jean, her expression worried. "Althea is fully aware of her powers, she could use them against Cayanne...."  
"If she does, it's her funeral." growled Logan, his eyes flickering dangerously gold.

Cayanne, reluctant as ever, made her way from class to Byron's office.  
_ Deuxième rendez-vous, un plus à aller_. she thought to herself, giving the door a brisk knock.  
"Come in, Cayanne." called Byron, doubtless from his desk.  
Grumbling inwardly, the teen-ager entered, closing the door silently behind her.  
Sure enough, Byron was seated at the huge monstrosity he called a desk, finishing a Lego model of the Golden Gate Bridge. He smiled winningly at the young Cajun, waving his hand toward a chair. "Ever used them?"  
"De Legos or de bridge?" She watched him with a guarded gaze.  
Byron smiled. "Legos, of course." was his reply.  
Cayanne shrugged. "Few times." she evaded.  
"Would you like to try?"  
Even hidden behind aviator's glasses, the teen-ager's gaze was piercing. "Why?" she demanded.  
"For a bit of fun."  
Cayanne snorted, but eyed the many pieces. Her head ached suddenly, a shockingly strong pain-that-wasn't-pain lancing through her. It was a major effort to not fall, not cling to the desk for support.  
"Cayanne!" Byron's alarmed voice, his hands on her shoulders, trying to support her as the world wobbled dangerously around her. Something hit her cheek, a drilling pain, drawing blood. She was being pelted with many small, flying objects.  
_ Pain/Confusion/SURGE..._  
The world went black.

Pale and silent, Cayanne lay on one of the MedBay examination tables, Hank carefully taking a small quantity of blood for analysis. The girl didn't show any reaction to the tiny pinch of the needle, her features drawn and achingly vunerable.  
Professor Xavier was gently trying to calm Remy, who was seated in a chair, eyes never leaving his daughter.  
Logan stood nearby, a solid, if hidden, presence.  
Scott was speaking quietly to Nathan and Stryfe, who both looked over occasionally at the suddenly fragile young Cajun.  
They could do nothing but be there, and there they remained, watching over the quixotic youngster who had come to mean so much to each of them, for both the same and different reasons.

Jean was standing next to Cayanne's bed, eyes closed, trying to "read" whatever telepathic "residue" was left over from the incident. It required extremes of concentration and control, since any attempt to actually enter the girl's mind would likely trigger withdrawal.  
Something tugged on the edge of her conciousness, something burrowed deep under Cayanne's conciousness.  
Careful not to in any way cause distress, she examined it...  
_ Begone, little Phoenix_. The mental voice was deep and somehow silky, ancient and yet new  
She "looked" up, seeing nothing, only....  
Dim outline. Flickering, silver - the Phoenix in her shrieked in _- terror_.  
It knew. It...  
There was a blast of silent light, and Jean was flung from Cayanne's mind.

Scott leapt to catch Jean as she was flung violently from the bedside. He was knocked off his feet, and Logan managed to twist and catch them both, easing them down.  
"She's telekenetic." gasped out the red-haired mutant. "Something - something is _inside _her." She was shaking, and suddenly tremendously grateful for Scott's protective embrace.  
"_Ce qui?!_" demanded Remy, moving to his daughter's side, gathering her to him.  
"Jean, what did you sense?" Xavier's voice was gentle.  
"I don't know. Something - " She shook her head. "Something. It didn't strike me as evil, not really, just - just so _old._" She shivered. "It's waiting for something. Cayanne, maybe."  
Remy turned his head to shoot a gaze somewhere between a glare and a question at her.  
"I think it's waiting for her to finish maturing."

Cayanne was beginning to wonder if she should start living in MedBay . Hank and Xavier had insisted she remain there "until they were sure she was all right". So she played chess with her _Papa, Go _with Logan, and Monopoly with Zane, Liam, Justin, and Fabian. Graham refused to play games, seeing them as an "irrational waste of time", but Fabian had him being the banker.  
She read a great deal - not that she minded that, and Hank brought her some books on philosophy and poetry she'd never seen before.  
And the teen put a great deal of effort into not thinking about what happened. She wasn't avoiding it, per say, after all, she _did _acknowledge it happened, but she couldn't really do anything about it, so she worked at understanding what she could.  
Marie came and often played checkers or chess with her, and they would talk about all manner of things. Sometimes the state of the school, many times Remy's state of mind.  
Logan taught her more Japanese.  
She taught him some of the more - inventive - words in Cajun.  
No-one treated her as an invalid.  
She felt - safe. Which almost caused a panic attack in itself. Only with her _Papa _had she ever felt _safe _before. Admittedly, the feeling now was a little different, but she was not accustomed to it. Not at all.  
Part of her wanted to bolt.  
The larger part refused to run.  
So she stayed.  
And wondered.

Translations from the Cajun (French)

_pas vous parole? _- don't you think?  
_Juste élargissant mon esprit _ - Just broadening my mind  
_Neuf mille des, neuf mille deux... _- Nine thousand one, nine thousand two...  
_Damnez-le! _- Damn it!  
_Deuxième rendez-vous, un plus à aller. _- Second appointment, one more to go.


	17. Interlude I Don't Know

I DON'T KNOW

I thought I knew, but I don't. Not really.  
I watch the trickle of colors, blues and greens, violets and azures, reds - well, I always had the reds - that sparkle in my vision.  
Hank had prescribed a pair of glasses, a fog-grey, that he told me would ease the transition from - what? Color-blind? The thought makes me smile a little.  
Walking down the halls, listening to the chatter of students, I sit silently, watching the youngsters play.  
Outside, Cayanne has coralled her father, Nathan, and Stryfe into a game of dodgeball.  
This time, I do smile.  
I had never pictured Gambit as a father, but there he was, spending time with his daughter like any parent, laughing as he aimed the ball at the tall, silver-haired mutant.  
Nathan - my son. Older than me.  
I close my eyes.  
Stryfe, Nathan's clone. Would-be conqueror.  
I open them.  
Stryfe is leaping for the ball, Nathan and him nearly tangling into one another while the teen-ager fields it and swats it back at her father.  
I wish at that moment I was a telepath, able to reach out to the minds of the ones I love.  
_Whaaa....?_  
I almost feel my spine crack as I bolt upright. The voice is not Jean's, through our bond, our link.  
_No kiddin'. _the wry tone could only be Cayanne.  
_You can...hear me?_  
_You shoutin'. _pointed out the youngster, holding the ball in her hands, staring up at the window.  
Perhaps I was.  
_I'm sorry, Cayanne, I..._  
_ Lissen, you de leader o' de X-Men, but if you don' learn relax you gonna freeze in de upright position. Get down here an' play with yer sons._  
_ Son. _It was automatic. Maybe even a little petty. Stryfe? My son?  
_ Sons. If you wanna not let Rafe be yer son, dat yer problem, but you wanna stay blind, pal?_  
_ God, she's beginning to sound like Logan._  
_ Merci._  
_ Ummm...._  
_ You got three minutes get down here or I send Nathan up dere to get ya._  
_ Cayanne! _I try for adult authority, and find that she is not overly impressed.  
_Two minutes, fifty second. An' countin'._  
I stand up, feeling very put upon, and start down the stairs, automatically placing a hand on the banister as I make my way down. I convince myself it is just to make a brief appearance and then return to the study.  
"_Finalement_!" calls Cayanne, a wicked grin on her elfin features.  
I stare at her.  
Then at the sixth member of our group, who was patiently puffing on a cigar.  
Cayanne sneezed, glared up at Logan. _"Cela SENT." _she observed.  
"Aquired taste, darlin'."  
"So you go outta yer way t' aquire a taste fer somethin' that smells like roadkill?" the teen sneezed again.  
I stare at her, then at Logan, then back at a grinning Remy. Nathan and Stryfe both have typically inscrutible expressions on their faces and I suddenly wish I could _reach _them, be a father to them, though I have no idea how.  
"Me, Logan, and _Papa _versus de Summers." Cayanne rubbed her hands together.  
"What...?" I stare at them, sure the girl has lost her mind.  
"Don' worry, I go easy on ya."  
"Cayanne!"  
Logan took a last puff on his cigar, then dropped it.  
Cayanne gleefully stomped on the offending object, while Logan pretended not to notice.  
"It would seem we are allies." said Stryfe dryly.  
I stare at him.  
Nathan - did I see a flicker of a smile?  
"Incomin'!" yelled Cayanne.  
I was forced, for the next hour, to dodge, duck, and dive to avoid the deadly accuracy of Logan, who was obviously enjoying the game. Cayanne was tagged next, and then I found myself and an experienced group of X-Men scatter before the aim of a gleeful teen-ager.  
I was stunned when I looked up and realized the sun was setting. Nathan's gaze met mine.  
I saw something there I had never seen before.  
A flicker of warmth. Light. My son, behind the years.  
I had been color-blind since I was sixteen, but I had never realized that when I glanced at Stryfe, I saw - hurt. Not hate. It was a momentary thing. A realization.  
Maybe a little _too _color-blind. I'd worked so hard on being the leader of the X-Men, the mutant known as Cyclops, that I'd become defined by the name, the calling. I'd never looked beyond it, because - perhaps, in truth, I feared what I would find.  
Nathan and Stryfe had no choice in the matter.  
I had judged them both based on who I was, not on who _they _were.  
Cayanne had bounded up the stairs after her father.  
Logan glanced back at me once, the gaze of an older brother, oddly comforting, then followed the Cajuns.  
Nathan and Stryfe were still there, and somehow we all stopped at the same moment.  
I stared at them, so alike in appearance, so similar in nature, yet so very different.  
I swallowed hard, then said tenatively, "Are you both busy?"  
I expected Stryfe at least to push past me, but I was almost shocked when he shrugged.  
Nathan's gaze revealed an instant of startlement, then he replied, "I'm not."  
"How about a game, then?"  
They both nodded, almost in unison, and I started up the steps, a little in shock.  
Could I be a friend to them?  
Yes.  
Could I be a father to them?  
I don't know.  
(Yes.)


	18. The Herald Angels Sing

******_CAJUN CINNAMON_**  
**Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle  
**  
Chapter XIII  
**_"The Herald Angels Sing"  
_**  
Cayanne was almost - almost - relived when Professor Xavier came into the small room, his expression kind and concerned.  
The teen-ager returned his gaze, chin up. "I not hurt no-one?" she blurted out, voicing her concern while internally kicking herself for sounding so - what? Worried? Well, she was.  
"No-one was injured, no." Xavier's voice was soothing, which served to make the Cajun youngster sit up straighter in the bed.  
"Den what?"  
Xavier watched her a moment, seeing the guarded, not-quite-hostile glint in her eyes. She was shaken, yes, but trying to conceal it. Clearly this was as much frightening to her as curious, a balance between emotion and intellect.  
"Cayanne, do you know what telekenisis is?"  
She shrugged. "Psychokenisis - de ability t' move or infl'nce obj'ts by force o' will alone." the teen-ager defined.  
The Professor steepled his fingers, gaze gentle, showing no accusation or anger, only compassion and calm. "Impressive." Right now she needed that acknowledgement. Telepathy didn't tell him that - years of working with young mutants whose entire worlds turned upside down did. "What of psionics?"  
"Kinda umbrella term_, oui_? Powers o' de mind."  
"Yes." Xavier nodded. "Some telepaths possess psionic potential in many areas. Jean is such a one." He took a deep breath. "As are you."  
Cayanne regarded him with an unreadable gaze. "I'd know, if was." she objected. "Dis tel'pthy I c'n belive hidden inside my head, but not dis - psi'nics." she replied, drawing her knees up to her chin.  
Xavier spoke carefully. "Such gifts take time to fully mature, and control is an issue..." he began.  
"Arrgh! More o' de shrink!" groaned Cayanne, clapping a hand to her forehead.  
"You will need time to explore it, learn your gifts' full potential." encouraged the telepath. "Jean and I can help you - if you will allow us."  
Cayanne watched him warily. "What _Papa _say, den?" she asked, softly.  
"I belive you should ask him."

Bounding into her father's arms, Cayanne hugged the tall man tight, and for a moment all was right with the world. She rested her cheek against the soft fabric for a moment, then looked up at him.  
"_Papa _-" she began, voice uncertain. "Cayanne's powers. Dey - dey not..." She looked away, feeling her throat close up.  
"_Votre _Papa_ vous aimera toujours, ange idiot._" Remy said, gently tilting his daughter's chin up. "Hear? " He gathered the shaken teen into his arms and held her tight."  
"Even though..." Cayanne burrowed against him. She couldn't speak, so deep were her emotions.  
"Always."  
She grinned up at him, feeling lighter somehow. "_Aimez-vous, _Papa."

Warren Worthington III - the mutant known also as Archangel - hated Christmas. He hated the season, the crowds, even the gift-giving, and at the moment he hated it more than he normally did.  
But he was also tired. Wonderfully, joyfully tired.  
Restored.  
Dropping silently down onto the roof of the Institute's mansion, wings giving a final beat to keep his balance as he landed, Warren heard the shouts and laughter of children and adolecants as he settled onto his perch.  
Young mutants - including the youngest - were gathered around in clusters, talking excitedly about the pre-Christmas trips arranged by the Institute. Of course, the children - even shy little Iolana, who had just arrived from Hawaii - would have escorts going to the malls, largely from a pool of volenteers.  
Perched on the roof, Warren extended this wings full out, feathers catching the frost-prismed rays of the sun, simply exulting in the freedom of the movement and the cool air that smelled so clean at the moment.  
_"Iiiihe oooften neeehd tooo dooo thhaaat ahhlsooo." _The sibilant, almost-hiss tones were distinctive, and the blond mutant's head jerked up reflexively.  
What at first glance seemed to be a statue moved, wings unfurling to shadow the column near where it stood.  
Black wings.  
Demon wings.  
The smaller figure moved with uncanny grace, folding those shadow-pinions around an oddly athletic, whip-thin body and fold-locking the spar joints at the neck as it padded forward.  
"You're one of the new students, aren't you?" Warren couldn't place the boy - if you could call him that - by name. Then again, the odd, demon-dragon head, mouth filled with sharp, serrated teeth,digigrade legs, tail, and glowing, prismatic eyes removed him from his fellows by quite some distance.  
"_Iiiihe aaahm. Yhhooou aaahre thhheee ohhhne thheeey caaahhl Aaaarcaaahngel." _The gaze was solumn, strange prism eyes reflecting flickers of white and gold in their depths. "_Yyoooohu dhooo nhooot eenjhooy thheee cceeleehbraatioons?"_  
Warren frowned, folding his wings back neatly against his back. Despite being around mutants of every shape and size, this particular one made him uneasy for reasons he couldn't quite explain, even to himself.  
"I have some things I need to do." It was a bit rude, but Warren leapt easily into the air, angling down to the window of his room.  
Justin's head lifted slightly on his neck, gaze tracking the graceful arc of the older mutant.  
_"Iiiiahhe knnoooohw." _the young mutant murmered to himself, stepping back into the shadows.  
Christmas shopping was an impossibility for the likes of him.

"What're we gonna do fer the holidays, Cayanne?" asked Zane, from his position near the entrance to the study-room.  
The young Cajun grinned impishly, reaching over to smack him affectionately on the shoulder. "_Nous ne pouvons pas être à la maison, mais nous nous avons_."  
Liam smiled shyly, eyes glowing with inner joy at that comment, and Zane's grin turned on him full-blast.  
"We could go to the mall with the other kids." suggested Brendan. "I really want that new Gundam anime."  
"What anime you _not _want_, mon ami_?" grinned Cayanne, mischeviously.  
"I could do without that Trigun one, I have a copy..."  
"DVD?"  
The young mutant blinked, then wrinkled his nose in affectionate annoyance. "I hate you."  
"Hah!" commented Fabian, who idley tossed a book on the table. He grinned at the other boy, well aware of the affection Brendan bore the girl. "This from a guy who asked for a portable DVD just so he could watch his flicks in class!"  
"Pest!"  
"Twerp!"  
"Jerk!"  
_"Enfants_!" mock-scolded the young Cajun. "More plottin', less gripin'!"  
Graham spoke up then. "We should do the most reasonable thing. Prepare for the morning." he said, voice calm and rational.  
"Dat de borin' way, we got more energy dan that."  
A near-silent rustle announced Justin's arrival_. "Aaaapooologiies fffooor beeeiing lhaaate_." his soft, sibilant voice slid over the shadows of the library, as he crouch-sat on a stool Cayanne slid over to him with one foot.  
"If we go shoppin_', mes amis_, we all go."  
Justin's horns flicked slightly, a sign of inner disquiet_. "Iiiihhee...."_  
_ "All_." emphasized the young Cajun, pressing a gentle hand on the long, alien hand of her friend.  
"Yeah." agreed Zane, leaning back precariously again in his chair. "Well, this joint ain't exactly full of the most accepting of folks, despite what they say. That Althea b..."  
"Zane!" warned Graham.  
"...Bimbo causes more trouble fer us than it's worth."  
"Dis better dan...ah...." Uncharacteristically, Cayanne hesitated.  
Zane pounced. "What?" His suspicions about the girl returned full-force.  
"Better dan a boardin' school o' de state_, oui_?" Her grin was almost feral. "We find other way t' celebrate."  
"Maybe..." Liam's shy, tenative voice trailed off, until Zane's hand touched his shoulder reassuringly. "I...I was just thinking, how we used to celebrate? Maybe we could take some music..."  
"The stupid rules say no noise after midnight." grumbled Fabian.  
"Rules not always only guideline." said Cayanne, folding her hands under her chin. No admission there.  
"Cayanne might not know what we used to do." There. Zane's comment pressed the issue. His violet, startling eyes met the Cajun's. "Come on, Cayanne." He took a deep breath. "Please. If you are who I think, then couldn't you just say? I mean, if you _aren't, _then you won't know what we're talking about, since she taught it to us. Right, guys?"  
_"Zzzzhaaaane dooooes haaahve aaahaa phooooiiint...." _said Justin, slowly.  
Intrested, Fabian added, "Yeah. I mean, not that I minded livin' with the LeBeaus and stuff, but...."  
Liam's soft voice said, "Without her...there would have been no family of us Hidden to save." His voice trembled ever so slightly, and Zane wrapped a protective arm over his thin shoulders.  
Cayanne looked from one face to the other, feeling both trapped - and blessed. She ran her fingers along the edge of the table. "You know I love _Papa. _Always. _Oui?_" She could not ever, no matter what, ever stop being the daughter of Remy LeBeau. "But," and her voice grew soft and warm, affectionate in a quiet way, "then again, I was Hidden. Yeah. I know the way we celebrate. And I know why, thanks to _Papa._"  
"Damn." Zane was grinning, though a suspicious shine was in his eyes. "You found us, _again, _after all that? You were just a kid!"  
Cayanne snorted, flicking the boy's nose with a snap of her fingers.. "Was never a kid." But she grinned in return.  
The others were grinning - even Justin - and the world grew warmer in the bonds reforged.

Sneaking out of a tightly-secured mansion was an easy matter to a member of the Thieves' Guild. Cayanne climbed over the fence, pausing to enter a series of commands in the small device she carried.  
_Hurry up! _This telepathy thing was useful, sometimes, she was discovering, as Justin, huge wings silent in the night sky, carried Graham over the fence. Liam and Zane arrived, with characteristic dark-folding ripples around them.  
She grinned, peering up at the moon. "We got a place?"  
"Yeah." Fabian was grinning broadly. "I found a cool spot. Rave party tonight there, so we can get to the Den easy."  
Graham looked disapproving. "This is a violation of the rules, you know." he interjected.  
"Ooo. Terror jus' grip my heart." returned Cayanne, clutching her chest in mock horror.  
Liam uttered a sound suspiciously like a giggle, but he promptly ducked his cloaked head when Graham frowned at him.  
"Cut it out, ya oversized Vulcan." scolded the young Cajun. "You love this as much as we do. Stop de gripe. Hear?"  
The taller boy grumbled, and Fabian rolled his eyes.  
Cayanne grinned. "Dis town not home. Not know it nearly as well, but den, Internet maps useful_. Oui_?" She held up her find - a modified old handheld device with a global tracking cartridge taped into the port.  
"You took that without permission?" Graham sounded shocked.  
The teen-age Cajun's grin widened. "Hate to break dis to you_, ami_, but we _are _thieves."  
Zane burst out laughing, and Justin swing his wings to his back, tail dancing with amusement.  
"Besides. Was in de "recycle" bin." She looked down at the worn, battered case. "De school gonna pitch it. I make use o' it."  
"You're evil." snickered Fabian.  
"Nah. If I were t' be evil, I'd own part interest in Hell by now."  
Their laughter was soft, but not muted in it's enthusiasm.

Warren sat at the table, Jean on one side of him and Scott standing at the counter, going through what seemed to be an endless ream of Christmas wishes.  
Bobby was sipping hot cocoa from a huge mug, grinning appreciatively to himself at the taste.  
"What do our little angels want for Christmas?" Warren rather hoped his voice was neutral. No sense in ruining the fun for everybody.  
"Well, Iolana wants some seeds so she can plant a garden-box." Jean smiled at the childish scribble. "And a Digimon..."  
Stryfe, who at entered at that moment, snorted. Half the students wanted something-mons. The figures were often left in scattered heaps in the RecRoom, despite constant warnings from the adults.  
"I see our resident Scrooge has arrived." commented Scott, a somewhat tenative smile on his face. The relationship devoloping between him and the one-time would-be conquerer was tenueous, but the hostility was at least draining away.  
"This entire celebration seems rather overdramatized." he said, telekenetically fetching a glass of mile from the refridgerator. "Nathan and I have secured the perimiter."  
Bobby swallowed his cocoa the wrong way and went into a coughing fit.  
Logan, who was entering from the other direction, gave the younger man a swat on the back that nearly landed Bobby in his drink.  
"Geez, Wolvie, you don't know your own strength."  
A noncommental growl was the only reply as Logan searched through the 'fridge for his beer. He had to hide the Molson, otherwise the kids tended to get into it - not something he exactly approved of, though, granted, it tended to scare some of them off drinking for life after a few swallowes.  
Suceeding in his quest, he turned a chair around and sat opposite Jean, taking an absent-minded swallow as he tapped his fingers absently against his thigh.  
"Say, Wolvie - you like Christmas, right?" Bobby spoke up, turning to look at the Canadian.  
Logan shrugged. "I suppose." he rumbled.  
Jean looked up. "You suppose?" she almost squeaked. "You don't like Christmas?"  
"Not my time o' year." He took another swallow, then looked back at her. "What?"  
"Well, I know you're not exactly...uh...." The red-head suddenly floundered.  
"Christian?" suggested Logan, grinning wryly. "Nah. Not exactly against it, just ain't never been much of a religious type."  
Scott blinked a few times. Somehow, he had never considered that aspect of Logan's character.  
"Cayanne's gone." Althea announced, entering with Denise in tow. Both seemed rather pleased with themselves.  
"Gone?" Scott frowned at the girl, who was smiling suggestively at Logan_. Oh, God_. he thought, fighting down a smile despite himself.  
"Yes. She left the grounds without permission..."  
"Thank you, Althea, but you're supposed to be in bed." said Jean, turning a determinedly neutral gaze on the young woman.  
"But..."  
"Now." Logan's growl sent both girls scurrying.

Cayanne hoisted herself up the back of the fire escape, giving Zane a hand up behind her. Liam scrambled up a moment right behind them, and Justin landed a moment behind. Fabian and Graham finished their race up the rickety stairs to skid to a halt behind the group.  
"Dis good place." said the Cajun, taking a deep breath of the rendolant, spice-scented air. Tilting her head back, she let the wind stroke through her hair, shaking it out absently.  
A park on a building was a relatively new idea to the group, but Cayanne was rather pleased with the idea. Up above the ground, they could perform their year-end ritual without being seen. Or heard.  
Graham set down the bag and looked around. "There is that party...." he began.  
"Ravers not worry 'bout us up here. And dey not really care if dey see us, anyhow. Dat de good t'ing 'bout ravin'."  
"Right." muttered the tall boy, as the others set down their burdens.  
"We have what we need - Li, you got your flute?" added Zane, carefully lifting the simple lap-drum from his backpack.  
The shorter boy nodded, hands absently stroking the precious object. Though simple in design, it had been a gift from Zane just before the Hidden, and he treasured it.  
Pacing off the Circle, they called it. Each member of the little group would have their own space, and each would have their own voice. This way, the ritual was a part of all of them.  
The lap-drums were settled in place, and Cayanne turned to Liam, eyes sparkling with starlight and shadow. "You need t' call dem." she said, sitting down next to him.  
Dipping his head, the shy young mutant murmered softly.  
The shadows rippled.  
From them, three figures emerged.  
One was barely more than a furball with eyes, skittering excitedly to Liam and crawling to his shoulder.  
The second was massive. Humanoid, in char-black armor, carrying a huge battle-axe, the glowing red embers of his eyes focused on the boy, making a slight bow, more affectionate than subserviant.  
The last was catlike shadow, all muscle and furless, sliding through the shadows like a whisper in the dark.  
"Giggles, no ears!" pleaded Liam, scooting a bit over so the knight-like creature could kneel beside him. The cat-thing sat with an inscrutable gaze, watching as the young mutant stroked between his ears.  
Zane started, a low, steady beat that was barely audible. A heartbeat, picking up slowly as Cayanne's rythem brought a pulse. Liam added an otherworldly, haunting tone, as Justin began to croon, a low rumble underscoring the others. Fabian added his own drum-beat, then Graham. There was no speech but the drums, the whistle of the flute, the eriee croon of Justin, all blending slowly into a living rythem. It spoke in it's own way, and each instrument added it's own voice.  
Raw, untamed, the music was not something taken lightly. Too much pain was being released here.  
Too much rage.  
As the rythems blended, the three otherworldy creatures took the sound and kept it going, as the teen-agers flung off their outer wear and entered the Circle, each throwing their own movements into the night. Each remaining in their own space. Not touching, but part of one another. Nothing refined or practiced, nothing neat or clean.  
Only primal.  
Ending. And beginning.  
The boys had their shorts on, for the chill night air did not warm them as their own movements did.  
In this ritual, invented and expanded on by them alone, defined by their own needs, held by their own law, the boys found release from the past year.  
Cayanne had on shorts and a loose t-shirt, struggling with her own demons.  
Unfortunately, some demons refused to let go so easily.

Logan had tracked the "runaways" with no great ease - they had experiance avoiding being seen, but for the mutant known as Wolverine, it was simply a matter of time.  
When he saw them, perched on a ledge across from them, the instinctive part of him understood.  
This was a battle.  
Not fought with any physical weapon, and not won with any physical strength.  
These young mutants were battling with themselves, struggling for balance. Definition. Identity.  
His feral senses allowed him to almost experiance their ritual, though he was an uninvited observer.  
But his gaze was caught on the teen-age Cajun who, for once, danced with a savage abandon that was both threatening and oddly erotic. Cinnamon and spice and the scent of burning pine.  
A moment later he had swung down from his perch and was gone.

"They're okay." growled Logan, shoving open the door.  
The adults stared at him, most questioning, some puzzled.  
Xavier spoke quietly. "Why would they leave the grounds, Logan?"  
"Their own celebration."

Warren grumbled. He had been assigned to supervise - of all things - choir class.  
Veronica was sick with a cold, and somehow he had been shuffled in to supervise - of all things - Christmas carols.  
_"Dddhoooo nnnhooot sssiiinng_." came a strange voice, directly behind him.  
Warren spun around, staring into alien eyes.  
"Justin!" he said the name more harshly than he intended. The boy was on the class list, by name, at least.  
The head cocked, and came up a bit on the draconian neck. _"Ccccaaaayaaane tttttoooold uussss oooonnnce ttthhhaaaat iiifff yoooohu caaanoooot _ffffheeeel_, ttthhhheeee mmmmmuuusssiiiiic mmmmeeeeans nnnoooothiiing."_  
_ Oh, God, I must be depressed. A teen-age demon is trying to bond with me_. thought the mutant savagely. "It's just Christmas carolling." he said, indicating the rehersal room. "Nothing too complex."  
_ "Ttttrrrrulllly? Thhhheen Iiiih hoooopeee yhooou wiiilll fooorgiiive meeee, buuuut Iiiiih knnnooow nnnnnooonnnne aaaaat aaaaaalllll."  
_  
Cayanne groaned and clamped both hands over her ears as another enthusiastic - if more than a little off-key - round of "Jingle Bells" started.  
"Hey, there." Logan's voice was gruff as she trotted into the kitchen. Pretty much the only safe haven from overdosing on Christmas sweetness at the moment.  
_"Gaaahh_!!!" she moaned. "Another o' de chorus! I musta run over de bus o' nuns in de past life!"  
Despite his reputation, Logan actually grinned a little. "They got spirit." he comforted, feet comfortably kicked up on the table.  
"Dey got somethin'. One more round o' de "Wish You Merry Christmas" and I gonna borrow Nathan's gun and go de postal."  
Logan snorted with laughter.  
"Speakin' o' grim occurance, where de winged lump o' misery? De one you call Archangel?"  
"Dunno, darlin'." Logan had pulled out a cigar, and Cayanne was eyeing it with speculative disgust - and a squirt bottle. Grinning wolfishly, he put the stogie away and leaned back comfortably. "Probably off flappin' his wings."

Warren tryed to hide a sense of growing misery. Christmas at home had always been a simple delivery of presents and prompt banishment to his room - he had no "glowing family memories" to miss.  
Justin was the only student that seemed to notice.  
So when the group gathered, he was suprised when the boy padded over to an unfamiliar girl and spoke softly. Once he pointed back at Archangel, then the pair were promptly joined by four boys.  
He gave his most encouraging smile to the group. "Good job, everyone! That was great. Ready to show the others what you can do?"

As the fourteen young people filed out in front of the mansion, they all were whispering to one another.  
Justin spoke up softly, before anyone could say anything._ "Fffoooorgiiive thhheeee iiiiinnnteeeruuuptiooon, buuuut wheee aaaaske tooo siiiing fiiiirst. Aaaa sooong - aaaaa giiiiift - tooooo aaaaa teeeaaaacheeerr?"_  
When no-one objected, the demon-like mutant tugged Cayanne over, and the rest of the small group gathered around him.  
Untrained voices began to sing, all focused on one person.  
One person who had lost his faith.  
One person who felt no joy, because he had been given none.  
They sang to fill a void, because they knew.  
And Justin sang, sibilant-odd voice beautiful somehow, in the gift he gave.

_ Hark! the herald angels sing_  
_ Glory to the new-born King!_  
_ Peace on earth and mercy mild,_  
_ God and sinners reconciled!_  
_ Joyful, all ye nations rise,_  
_ Join the triumph of the skies;_  
_ With the angelic host proclaim_  
_ Christ is born in Bethlehem!_  
_ Hark! the herald angels sing_  
_ Glory to the new-born King!  
_  
And somehow, for one, shocking moment, Warren understood. This was his family. And somehow, someway, he - indeed - was an angel of sorts. Not just a warrior angel, an archangel.  
A herald.  
The image of the past was replaced, at that moment, of all the X-Men gathered around him, the students now singing lustily about snowmen and bells and trees, with one of priceless peace.  
Of angels, light....  
The triumph of the skies.  
And here, with a demon-winged mutant boy who took one moment on this day to show him that wings didn't make an angel.  
It was about being able to give without needing and comfort without holding back.  
About family.  
About home.  
Despite himself, despite being in the middle of the crowd, with the children cheering and the adults laughing and congratulating, Warren Worthington III wept.  
And he knew, somehow, Justin understood as he began to sing, awkwardly, softly, about Christmas, flying, and being home, at last.

****Translations from the Cajun (French)

_Votre père vous aimera toujours, ange idiot_. - Your _Papa _will always love you, silly angel  
_Nous ne pouvons pas être à la maison, mais nous nous avons. _ - We can't go home, but we have each other.


	19. Interlude Sugar and Stryfe

**_INTERLUDE - _****"SUGAR AND STRYFE"**

  
Remy LeBeau rapped gently on the doorway of what was designated Cayanne's room. Moments later, he was nearly knocked over by her enthusiastic embrace, and grinned down at her, ruffling her hair lovingly.  
"Love you too, sweetheart." he said, wrapping long arms around the teen-ager. He felt a pang of concern over what he was going to say, but he had to do this. It was one of the most difficult things he had done.  
"Yer _Papa _goin' with the team. Major problem, need our help." he said, trying to gentle the words as much as he could.  
Cayanne's night-star eyes widened, and he felt her sense of dim panic. Then, in a low voice, "I go too."  
"_Non!" _He spoke a bit more sharply than he intended, and the girl blinked, only relaxing when he crouched down to stare deep into eyes so like his own. "You lissen. _Oui? _No. Cayanne, you stay here. Dis safe place..."  
"I'm not a baby!" the voice was sharp, full of fire - and trembling.  
_Please help me do this. _he thought, not really sure where the sentiment was directed.  
"_Non._ But not trained. Not yet."  
Cayanne looked away. She was trembling, drew back slightly.  
His heart broke, and he felt a rising fury at the Friends of Humanity that took him from the daughter who needed him. Taking her chin in a gentle hand, he caressed the hair from her eyes, continuing, "Yer _Papa _is an X-Man. Dese people - dey family. I trained. I go with them. You stay here. Wit de others."  
Cayanne's eyes were suspciously bright as she hugged him, clinging tightly to the tall frame. Felt the comforting press of his arms. Refused to cry. "Promise me you come back." she whispered, ragged-toned despite her best efforts.  
"I come back." He rocked her, held her one more moment. Then, kissing her forehead, "I bring something special back."  
"You more dan special enough."  
The mutant known as Gambit had to leave then. It was best that no-one know that, in that hallway, on the dingy-storm day, the Ragin' Cajin had to lean a moment against the stone. And weep.

Cayanne was moping. She knew it, tried to stop, and found that melencholy was not something she wanted to share. So she wandered aimlessly through the mansion, ignoring the supervisory staff - made up mostly of seniors - and finally came into the recreation room, where a new, large-screen televison had been recently installed. Kids were wandering in and out, several planning a game on the baseball field.  
Turning abruptly, she went back into her room, digging into the well-hidden bag she had brought her few possessions with her in. After a few moments, her hands wrapped around a sqaushy, reassuring form.  
The old, floppy thing was so well-used it was almost shapeless, but to Cayanne it was still the clumsily-made teddy-gator her_ Papa _had given her, all those years ago. As a six-year-old, still fresh - or raw, more properlly - from the streets, she had dubbed it "Souris". It remained with her, now, years later. She closed her eyes, resting her cheek against it's comforting bulk, holding it tight against her stomach.  
He had promised.  
He had _promised._  
She sank down against the wall, feeling tears well up, ones she refused to let fall. The teen-ager clung to her childhood friend - for she had cried endless tears into Souris. Told her secrets, played endless games - and waited for her _Papa _to come home.  
_Grandpere' _had always been good to her. Always there with a hug, encouragement, a new skill to learn, but she had yearned for the return of her _Papa _to the point it became a physical ache, one she carried with her even when her cousins were sent briefly to school in New Orleans. It hadn't worked out very well, and she had come back to learn from books.  
And from the Guild.  
She had passed all their tests, but her _Papa _had made clear that Cayanne was to be a gatherer of information, a co-ordinater, not an active thief. The others had said she was too young.  
Until she had led Aluin, Destin, Garan, Mikael, and Wiatt on a coup that stole a business right from under the Assassin Guilds' nose.  
_Grandpere' not know whether punish us or praise us. _she thought, with dry humor. _And soon after, _Papa _come and bring me here. Was well worth risk!_  
Ah, but she still missed her cousins sometimes. All older than her, they had been - and remained - family.  
Closing her eyes, she could see all of them again, hear their voices.  
Garan, steady and cautious. Small, sneaky Aluin, who could pick a pocket before anyone could see it coming. Mikael, with his soft voice and deadly aim. Wiatt, who chewed enough bubblegum to choke most people and could assemble and repair a gun with his eyes closed. And Destin, who had run away from the Assassin's Guild and found a new home - now he had been the one with the sense of humor, alabit a slightly twisted one.  
All of them, Acadian to the core - though Aluin and Garan were more Creole, they were Acadian.  
She rocked silently.  
Watched outside, and tried to not feel anything. Saw the students playing, running around, unaware - at least most of them - that her _Papa, _her - what? X-Men? Family?  
Her mind whispered the last word, dancing cautiously around it like a surgeon around an open wound. She bit down on her lip so hard blood came. She didn't think about it. Practiced her mental shields. Struggled to make sense of the new formulae she'd learned in chemistry. Forced her mind along another avenue.  
When Cayanne looked up again the sun had disappeared. It was dark, with a grainy overcast that hid the stars.  
Blindly, she wrapped Souris up in her blanket, and headed downstairs.

Stryfe was seated on the couch, a look of monumental boredom on his strong-featured face as he used the remote control to examine the different channels when he sensed more than heard footsteps.  
Cayanne froze on the threshold, a strangely lost, vunerable expression on her sharp features.  
Before he could turn and look at her, she had crawled up on the couch next to him, nestling against his body.  
He didn't look at her, knowing, somehow, that she needed that small dignity.  
After a moment of silence, companionable rather than awkward, he wrapped an arm around her, holding her gently against his side as she used his leg as a pillow.  
They were both staring at the screen, rather than at each other.  
_Oh, little one. _he thought, and a strange twinge clutched his heart briefly. Then, a sharp need to tear apart the person who had hurt her, followed by a wave of quite - new - protectiveness.  
It wasn't a person. Not really.  
Only fear.  
A far worse companion than most enemies.  
He regarded the ludicrous posturing of the individuals on the screen, realizing with some semblance of disbelief that it was actually a _courtroom. _Court? Bah.  
"Has everyone in this era taken leave of what little sense they were imbued with at birth?" he muttered, changing the station.  
Another court show.  
Inane.  
Cayanne was nestled close to him, warm and steady, fighting off sleep. Flicker of fear against his mind, an uncontrolled send.  
He would have to tell her about that one day.  
Not now.  
Vaugely, he remembered hearing Gambit singing something to her one night when she had been unconcious, a strangely comforting little tune. Remembering the words, he gently held the teen-ager on his lap.  
In a deep male voice, softened somehow, he began to sing.

_Hush little baby, don't say a word_  
_ Daddy's gonna buy you a mockingbird_  
_ If that mockingbird don't sing_  
_ Daddy's gonna buy you a diamond ring...  
_  
She looked up at him, trusting him, a love so palpable it needed no telepathy rushing from her to him in an uncontrolled wave.  
Not as a substitute. Not as an "alternative".  
No. As Rafe. Or Stryfe.  
Only as him.

_ And if that diamond ring turns brass_  
_ Daddy's gonna buy you a looking glass_  
_ If that looking glass gets broke_  
_ Daddy's gonna buy you a billy goat...  
_  
He held her gently, unconciously rocking her against him. Sending the same feeling back. Not knowing how or why.  
Not _caring _how or why.

_ And if that billy goat won't pull_  
_ Daddy's gonna buy you a cart and bull_  
_ If that cart and bull turn over_  
_ Daddy's gonna buy you a dog named Rover...  
_  
Her eyes were closed, breathing smoothing out.  
Telekenetically, he lifted the blanket from her grip, reflexively catching the object that tumbled with it.  
A small, oddly-made animal.  
It was green.  
Vaugely resembling creatures from that noxious program the younger children seemed to love so much, it was also unique.  
Well used, as well.  
He gently pressed it against her, hiding it between them.

_ And if that dog named Rover won't bark_  
_ Daddy's gonna buy you a horse and cart_  
_ And if that horse and cart fall down_  
_ You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town.  
_  
Cayanne slept. Fitfully, but slept nontheless.  
Stryfe held her, rocking her gently, wishing suddenly that she had been his own.  
Treasuring the act of trust, of love, even if the confused teen-ager that had entered the room had not considered it out.  
Perhaps treasuring it more.

Logan was the first to bound into the Mansion. It had been a stupid situation, some crazy FoH wannabe-hunter had been chasing around a terrified group of parents only trying to protect their mutant children and he had left a few permenant reminders that the guy should leave them alone.  
Let him rot in prison.  
_Guy was crazy_. he thought, popping a cigar in his mouth. _Deserved worse. _The rage was dim now, coiling back down into him.  
He had kept seeing Cayanne's face as they had chased down the kid-killer. The girl had only been - what, fourteen? Fifteen? Cut up, left to die - even he had felt sick.  
The others were following him, exausted and ready for a break.  
Logan stopped in the door, staring disbelivingly at the sight, then slapped a hand over Remy's mouth as he started to announce their return. "Shaddup, Gumbo." he rumbled, in a very low voice. "You gotta see this."  
Crowding behind him, the X-Men beheld a sight that they had never expected to see.  
Cradled in Stryfe's muscular arms, Cayanne was wrapped in a blanket, snuggled against his chest, fast asleep.  
And as for the the would-be conquerer-of-worlds?  
For once, he slept on, a faint, gentle smile still curving his features.


	20. The End of the Beginning

******_CAJUN CINNAMON_**  
**Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle  
**  
Chapter XIV  
**_"The End of the Beginning"  
_**  
Cayanne sat alone in the corner of her room, staring into the shadows.  
It was near three in the morning, silent and almost eriee, and there was rattling inside her head, much like ghosts trapped in their crypts, scrabbling at ancient stone.  
She clamped her hands over her ears, trying to _not _hear, _not _listen. It was all strange, foggy, as if the speakers spoke a language she _almost _grasped, but eluded her still.

_ It must be soon_. The first voice was light but sharp, like sun burning against sand_. Are we causing this?_  
_ No_. the other voice was dark and soft, filled with a kind of longing sadness_. It is a deeper thing._  
_ Still, she cannot maintain the Other. _Quiet, yet filled with strength, this voice carried a tinge of weariness_. If only I had known...!_  
_ What would you have done differently_? the first was curious.  
A pause_. Nothing, I think. I was granted too much joy, and I carry it still_. Yearning, then. Soft petals of pain_. Yet to let the Other fade - what then?_  
_ It returns, and we begin_. Eagerness from the first_. All of us, once more..._  
_ Wait_. Firmly_. There is only so much I may ask of a soul. _Gently, but firmly, brooking no dissent_. You both were ripped untimely from your lives, yet I - I am ready. One touch, one moment, that is all I ask. Then I must -_  
_ No_! The dark-soft voice spoke then, understanding_. You will...._  
_ It is my time_. Sternly_. You burn with desire for Return. I am ready. Strength from the love I have known, it prepared me, and I am ready. How much can we ask? Three lives might be too many. How many burdens can we place on the innocent?_  
_ But wasn't it a gift_? The burning voice was hesitant now.  
_ Gift, yes. Given freely, suffered willingly, offered without price or debt. But there is more to this than just a gift. There is much more. I see a future, and it is a worthy one. A bright one. Shall I stand in it's way?_  
_ But we..._  
_ You will have your time. That is your right. My time is but a fleeting moment remaining. That shall be my only petition. It is time to set free, my friends, not hold fast. I must abide by my destiny._  
_ You have more courage than I_. The bright voice was a tad chagrined.  
_ Than us_. agreed the sad one.  
_ No. My path is the easier one.  
_  
_"Arrêtez-le, arrêtez-le, ARRÊTEZ-LE!_" Cayanne's voice bounced off the walls and shattered the silence, as she struggled to force the alien, swirling thought-image-emotions from her mind. But now other thought-sounds clamored, rattling against her mind, some soft, others loud, a thousand claws against her mental barriers, tearing, burning.  
There was no other choice. She knew what she had to do.  
And she was ashamed.

Hank entered the MedLab and froze in horrified disbelief. His mental shock brought Xavier's telepathic presence instantly to his side, and both stared in horror.  
Cayanne was in a heap on the floor, blood oozing slowly from her mouth. She looked like a child then, small, fragile - and lost. So very small.  
Stryfe came barrelling in the door then, narrowly missing slamming into the blue-furred mutant, closely followed by Remy and Marie.  
_Cayanne! _his mental shout made Xavier's psychic "ears" ring.  
The body came up a bit, propped on a trembling arm, then went back down.  
Remy dropped to his knees, gathering his daughter into his shielding arms, face drawn, focused....  
_No more...._the fading thought-image was drenched with nightmare. Flickers of drowning yet living, blood. Agony. Terror. Laughter.  
Claws tearing. Violation. And a horrible, twisting **_hunger_**.  
Soulless husks falling.  
Need to flee. Heal.  
**_ Kill. Feed. _**An almost-lust that surged within the words, an almost-definition of _need.  
_  
It was sheer psychic hell.  
Xavier felt the presence of Logan, a strong, steady pulse of life, crouched in the door, feral eyes on the shattered body of the teen-ager. Not moving. Unreadable.  
Marie got to Remy in time to wrap both arms around him, seeing tears on his shocked, frozen face.  
Stryfe cursed, started toward the trio, stopped suddenly. His eyes widened a little, sensing something - moving. Flickering, whirling, slowly forming. The shadows strained with the effort of soon-birthing...  
Cayanne gave a howl unlike anything human. Her body arched, bones straining against whatever was happening.  
Marie gasped, grabbing the girl's arm, pulling the hypodermic free as she began to sieze uncontrollably, body thrashing as her internal struggle took itself onto the playing field of her body.  
"Cayanne." Remy was holding on, impossibly, refusing to let go, murmering in Acadian, black eyes glowing with garnet sparks.  
Xavier struggled to block the mental images, to force back the tide, but it overwhelmed his senses, fed on his power, tore frantically at his sanity.  
Images of bodies, bloodied bodies, carved in ways too unspeakable for any coherant thought, rocked obsenely on chains. Many too small to be anything but children. Men moved among them, taking notes on metal clipboards. Distant, fading mewling sounds as life was torn violently away.  
A symbol on the metal door. Blurry. Almost focused.  
Howls. Animalistic, primal, crazed with rage and pain. Blood. Need.  
Small hands covered with blood, hunger, twisted flashes of black and red and grey.  
The symbol was covered with a bloody handprint, fading, fading....  
Jean's mental presence added it's strength. Strangely, Remy was suddenly there as well. Logan hovered near, a sense of uncertanty, flicker of feral power against the concious strength of his mind. Stryfe and Nathan's presence, oddly fused at that moment, flooded into the mix, and they were holding back the demonic strength of the nightmare, shielding the too-shredded barriers of Cayanne's exausted conciousness, holding back the madness that the girl tottered on the edge of.  
Jean's mental voice was augmented by fire-presence, the Phoenix, and something answered.  
Primal. Ancient.  
White-star eyes blazed open, claws unsheathed, and the darkness flooded away from the shadow-form of a four-legged, winged image-form, which beckoned once.  
The Phoenix uttered it's trademark, fiery cry.  
Then was a ball of fire, burning in the oddly graceful, taloned claw-hand.  
_My Heralds, attend me._  
Then the fire became many.  
Blue-white, steady, liquid.  
Ozone-tinged white.  
Loam-scented green-gold.  
Eyes blazed, flickered awake, joined their sisters' cry.  
Something _burned._  
It screamed, horribly, tearing loose of it's wound, defying form, defying sanity.  
The Dragon growled, paced forward, eyes burning.  
_My Heralds. Strike._  
Fire. Ice. Wind-laced lightning. Steady gold-flecked green. Claws of many types of fire.  
It screeched, red-blood eyes wild, and was torn loose, mind-blood oozing as the thing was flung away by the combined mortal minds, away from it's former habitation, away from the physical locale, away from them all.  
The Dragon sank back under the mind-awareness, folding it's wings about itself, odd no-voice saying, _My Heralds, return._  
_ Heralds? _Jean's conciousness. Confused. Scott's bond with her soothing her aching mind.  
Remy's emotion-image was to Cayanne. Of safety, warmth, a room with a fire, simple and almost rustic. His arms around her. Marie sitting with them. Calm, steady, almost-sleep, encouragement. Unquestioning love. Comfort. Soothing.  
Cayanne moaned unconciously, eyes opening momentarily, head too heavy to lift.  
_Non. _she almost whimpered, too shaken to be clear. _Non...must hold on...._  
_ No. _Xavier coaxed Jean and Remy free of the battered mind, eased the feral strength - how? later! - of Logan back to his own body, sensed the careful withdrawal of Stryfe and Nathan, focused on the girl. "No, Cayanne." his voice was verbal now, feeling the agony of those vandalized, savagely brutalized shields. "Listen to your father." His gentle voice was soothing, gentle. "You have done nothing wrong..."  
Remy murmered soothingly, rocking her against him.  
_Failed. _Bleak despair. _Can't. _Agony.  
"I must be gettin' old." Logan's voice startled them. "Somethin' said can't."  
_Needed...._  
The older mutant rubbed his ear meaningfully, eyes on Cayanne.  
_Can't..._  
"You did good, kid."  
Cayanne swung a feeble fist in his general direction, and everyone felt a vauge sense of relief as Logan nodded solumly, affording her what her shaken composure needed most - dignity. "Don't ya _ever _say that 'bout yerself again. Hear me?"  
Cayanne's eyes, silver-flicker on ebon, focused briefly on him. She looked away, but her shoulders were no longer slumped.  
"Gumbo, get her outta here."

The X-Men met in the Professor's office, joined by Stryfe and Nathan.  
"What the hell happened?" Marie's voice was shaky. She had just left Remy curled protectively next to Cayanne, who was more unconcious than asleep. It had taken more than an hour to ease the shaken Cajun father into sleep, and sitting there stroking his hair, his head in her lap, being with them both, had been more important than anything else.  
"Something was there." Jean felt sick as she acknowledged the demonic presence. "It was..." She shivered, grateful for Scott's protective arms tightening around her.  
"Vile." growled Stryfe, eye glowing briefly. Nathan glanced at him.  
"Yeah." said Logan, startling them. He glared back. "What?"  
"How could you hear it?" Xavier said, verbalizing what all the telepaths were wondering. "You are not a telepath, Logan."  
"Nah." He shrugged. "Least of the problem."  
He did have a point.  
Hank spoke up. "Cayanne came very close to an overdose." he said, softly, sadly. "I badly underestimated the level of her addiction. Psychological addiction." Everyone was listening, now. "On some level, she belives the drug gives her the strength to hold her shields. However, it is still a _damnable _toxin." His fist uncharateristally slammed into the table. "One that came very close to killing her!"  
"How do we treat it, sugah?" asked Marie, coming over to sit next to the blue-furred mutant, one hand on his.  
"By makin' Cayanne realize she _don't _need it." Logan's rumble was dark. "And we start back a ways." He shoved off from the wall, staring at Xavier. "Right now, we push her body to get the toxin out. Sparrin', workin' out, leave that t' me. Let Byron deal with the problems she ain't gonna talk about." He tapped a finger sharply on the exausted Professor's desk. "Start teachin' her 'bout not bein' scared of what she is."  
"I can aid her with the telekenetic aspect." said Stryfe, eyes daring any dissent. "I am, after all, rather experienced with it."  
Nathan, for once, didn't snap back. Instead, he said, "I'll help with the telepathy."  
"Leave the rest to her Dad." advised Logan, popping a cigar into his mouth, not caring who disapproved as he lit it up. Taking a drag, he continued, staring at Marie. "And her Mom."

Hank was so gentle with Cayanne that he saw a flicker of hurt in her normally unreadable eyes. She was helping him clean the lab, and apparently remembered the terrible vunerablity a few days ago.  
The scientist put down the beaker and stared at the girl a moment, then smiled sadly. "I'm sorry, Cayanne." Did she understand that he couldn't bear to see the suffering she had endured? That he felt responsible?  
"Not yer fault. Just de way youdealin' wit it." Her grin was suddenly back as she stared up into Hank's eyes. "Don' worry, _mon ami_. I may'a gone down once, but I ain't out!"  
The mutant known as Beast smiled suddenly then, seeing the girl was not shattered - bruised, perhaps, even shaken, but still herself, still whole - filling him with a strange joy, and relief. "Never that." he replied, voice full of emotion.  
Cayanne grinned.

The phone rang insistantly for almost four minutes before Bobby got to it, managing a half-asleep, "Professor Xavier's School for the Gifted...who?" He didn't understand the rapid speech, wasn't sure of what was being said, but managed, "Hang on a sec."  
He turned and staggered, still sleep-clumsy, down the hallway and banged on Logan's door. "Hey, Wolvie! Phone!"

Bobby saw Logan's eyes close after a few seconds, but the older man's Japanese remained steady.  
The words were comforting, soothing, but there was an undercurrent of something - sadness. Deep pain.  
When he hung up, the older mutant stared at Bobby a moment, then turned wordlessly and headed back to his room.  
"Wolvie?" The young man poked his head in the door. "Are you okay?" He was suprised to see Logan staring silently at a photograph, then the startlement on the older man's face.  
When he lifted it, Bobby saw the photo - Logan, his Japanese friend Yukio - and the transparent, almost-faded image of Wolverine's adopted daughter, Akiko.

_The Other is gone. _The calmness hid pain. _Now the way is clear._  
_ When? _Eagerness in both the sad and bright voices as they blended together.  
_Soon. _Sadness. _Remember your promise to me. The leader must recieve my message. He must know, else so much will fail. I will not cause suffering._  
_ I remember. _The sun-touched voice was firm. _And we will. He will know the truth - but why?_  
_ There is too much hidden, and one shadow easily may cast itself upon another. The truth must shine._  
_ His name....?_ The sad one had difficulty remembering. Perhaps it was the shame, but then, there was so much, and so many.  
_Scott Summers._


	21. Interlude Don't Look Too Close At Me

DON'T LOOK TOO CLOSE AT ME

_Last one_, thought Scott Summers, rubbing his eyes.  
The assignment had been a poetry assignment. Some were almost brutal in their frankness, some lyrical, others were barely lists. But no-one had recived a failing mark, and he was feeling an almost paternal pride in that fact as he finished.  
The last one had no name on it, and was clearly ripped from a composition book, ragged-edged and not meeting the critera for an assignment. Turning it over in puzzlement, he found the distinctive script and started reading.

_ They see me as they must you know_  
_ Only as I dare to go_  
_ Far down a hallway not I dared_  
_ To show them how often I am scared  
_  
_ That something isn't right with me_  
_ I fight the harder, perfect be_  
_ Please only that they see I ask_  
_ Such a small and simple task  
_  
_ Don't let them know what lurks down deep_  
_ And haunts me when I should sleep_  
_ The sounds, the sight, the almost-words_  
_ That fly and peck like shattered birds  
_  
_ I'm so afraid, how do I say?_  
_ Please don't turn me away_  
_ I'll be the very best, you see_  
_ Just don't look too close at me.  
_  
The rest of it was smeared ink...

The door thumped open and a small figure bounded in, regarded Scott a moment, then struck a nonchalant pose and started toward the back of the classroom, beginning to riffle through the desk.  
"What's wrong, Cayanne?" he asked, glancing up with a smile.  
"Somethin' go missin'." she replied, popping up from the chair, a rumpled lump of paper in one hand. The teen-ager had turned in a very good, if extremely dry, sonnet, modelled along Shakespearean lines. Her expression was irritated - clearly, she was not in the habit of "losing" things.  
Scott abruptly added two and two together and got the right answer. "Like this?" he held up the sheet, and Cayanne froze, her expression flickering with - what? Anger? Fear? Shame? All three? Yes. All three.  
"Where you get dat?" she demanded, advancing on her instructor, hands balled into fists.  
"Cayanne, I..."  
"_Where?!" _It was just short of a snarl. Totally out of character for the teen-ager. So was the hint of terror that held her skinny frame rigid.  
Scott Summers was an experianced field commander. He was also a damn good one. And he knew when he saw fight or flight battling for control. And he saw it now. He phrased his words gently, carefully. Right now he was aware he held her fragile pride in his grasp, and he felt no superiority from it. Instead, he felt like a man holding a wary falcon on his wrist.  
"This isn't what you turned in, was it?" Half a question, more a statement.  
"_Non." _Her eyes were on his. A fragile trust teetered dangerously, in desperate peril of shattering beyond repair.  
The little poem was clearly private, deeply felt, and now someone not her father, not her _sensei,_ not even a telepath, had seen it.  
"It was in my pile of assignments." He did not in any way let his voice show accusation. She would not have turned it in accidentily - or would she have? Was Cayanne trying to reach out, finding every means blocked by her own fears? Was this her subconcious crying out to those around her?  
Or was it - a prank? Althea sat next to Cayanne, and their rivalry was no secret.  
It really didn't matter at the moment.  
"I not turn it in." Cayanne sounded positive.  
"It was excellent, sweetheart." He kicked himself. Too fast, he warned himself.  
She held out her hand, fingerless gloves in place, as always.  
Reluctantly, Scott handed the sheet of paper over.  
"Cayanne?" he suddenly asked, throwing caution to the wind.  
"Yeah?"  
"Could I...keep it?"  
Cayanne's eyes bored into him. She was not wearing her glasses, so the silver points seemed to glow against the light. Then she grumbled, "Why? You gonna hang on yer 'fridge?"  
Scott grinned up at her. "Yeah." he replied, in his warmest tone.  
Cayanne shifted from foot to foot, then shrugged. "Keep it. _Cadeau à un ami _- from me to you." Then she grinned impishly. "Only. _Oui?_"  
So, she didn't want anyone else to see it.  
"Deal."  
Cayanne headed for the door, then paused. "One more t'ing." she said, looking over her shoulder.  
He cocked an eyebrow at her.  
"You tell anyone an' I tell de class dat you been makin' smores inna teachers' lounge durin' breaks." she threatened, a glint of humor back in her eyes as she made her escape.  
Scott burst out laughing. Well, he couldn't let the students find out he was a sucker for smores.  
He picked up the sheet of paper and finally saw what had been drawn there, almost unawares.  
An X.  
X ?  
Scott closed his eyes, feeling a press of tears there. Remembering his own first, terrifying days at the Institute. As a _mutant._  
He held the fragile offering against his chest, feeling the touch of his wife's mind and letting her know that Cayanne's impregnable shield of mystery had cracked - just a bit.  
Leaning back in his chair, Scott stared out the window, down into the darkened courtyard where Cayanne lay sprawled on her stomach, chin resting on her folded hands, reading a massive tome on genetics loaned to her by Hank.  
It was a beginning.  
Remembering, he smiled.


	22. What The Diamond Dare Not Show

******_CAJUN CINNAMON_**  
**Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle  
**  
Chapter XV  
**_"What the Diamond Dare Not Show"  
_**  
Cayanne was more than a bit annoyed to discover that her schedule now required anap - a_ nap_! - during the day of at least one hour. As if she was a....an _enfant_!  
Determined to not resort to fuming , she had retreated to her room, only to set off another shockwave when Ororo - normally the most serene of people - apparently informed her father that her room was filled with unpacked boxes, not at all appropriate for a "young lady her age".  
_Gaaaaah!_  
Taking one look at her _Papa_'s face she fought down a groan. Every time he got that look in his eye it meant he was - uneccessarily, in her opinion - worrying.  
She hated for him to worry, much less about her.  
He moved aside a bit to allow Marie to enter, then she closed the door.  
_Oh, dis wonderful. Double trouble! _she groaned inwardly. But still, a tiny part of her whispered, it was good to see them together there. A wave of dizzyness washed over her suddenly, and she pressed a hand against the bedframe to steady herself. _Damnez-le!_  
"_Venez ici, mon petit combattant têtu._" Remy said, softly, and Cayanne all but fell into his arms. "Listen to your _Papa, mon petit. _Dis hard on you, I know. Always you have been independant as a forest fire, an' twice as bright, but now, you need let dese people help you." He gently tilted her head back, spoke in a voice devoid of anger or accusation. "An' you need eat, sleep. Cayanne, you trust me?"  
Her eyes closed one moment, then her thin shoulders slumped. "_Avec tous j'ai et tous je suis." _she whispered.  
The mutant known as Gambit held his daughter to him. "Trust me, Cayanne. Gets easier from here. I know it hurts. Fearful." He held a long, graceful finger to her lips, stifling any comment. "I be wit' you. An' Marie. You safe. Trust me."

Zane and Justin were building a house of cards, with Liam reading a book under their table, when Fabian and Graham joined them.  
"Knock it and I knock you." was Zane's cheerful comment, as he perched on his toes, wobbling dangerously to place a card. "Okay, Justin - lay one on it!"  
With odd grace, the gargoylian mutant's tail came up, gently placing a card on the top of the tower.  
"How many have you done, bro?" asked Fabian, leaning against the couchback, watching the construction effort.  
"This is the first today."  
"Wow." Fabian's skin turned crystilline briefly, whirling with appriciative orange-blue-yellow, before Brendan's hand came up over the couch's back and thumped his side lightly.  
"Whoops." grinned the chromokenetic, leaning back against the couch again.

Cayanne normally didn't mind her chores - much - but the ones she was doing currently were grating on her nerves. Once she was finished with the dishes, she dodged the groups of students, she made her way into the library, plunked down in the nearest chair, and tried to gather her thoughts.  
She punched the back of the leather chair in frustration, feeling some of her irritation drain away with the explosive movement.  
A light brush against her mind made her sit up straight, glancing at the door as Stryfe entered with characteristic silence.  
"Rafe!" The teen-ager couldn't resist a smile at her friend. _"Enfin, quelqu'un raisonnable_!"  
"That is quite possibly the first time I have been placed in that catagory." came the dry response, as he seated himself. "Something is troubling you?"  
A low growl. "Ever'one gettin' all wierd." she mumbled.  
"That is rather inpercise."  
Cayanne grinned, cocking her head to look up into his eyes. "You know 'zactly what I mean."  
"Mmmm." Stryfe nodded, watching her. "Do let me know if it becomes - truly distressing, hmm?"  
_"Pas vous aussi_!" Cayanne's voice was mock-disgusted, as she smacked herself in the forehead.  
"On a similar note, I am to become your teacher."  
"Really?" Cayanne bounced to her feet. "You 'port me again?" She loved being teleported - at least by Stryfe.  
"Certainly." His blue eyes regarded her serenely. "I belive I can teach you about your telekenetic abilities. Nathan shall aid Xavier in your telepathic skills."  
Cayanne blinked, then her expression turned thoughtful. "It...like t'l'pathy?" Her voice was low, tenative. "Dis tel'kenisis?"  
"In a way. It is a distinct ability of the mind. However, few psionics possess more than one ability. You are...quite gifted."  
"Hmmph." The girl looked uncomfortable. "Not know much 'bout dis stuff Rafe. Don' really wanna hurt nobody while I don' know, you know?"  
"I belive so." Rafe watched her, noting the unconcious drumming of her graceful, long fingers, the tension in her shoulders.  
"How long it take to learn?"  
"After you learn the basics of the skill, you will be able to instruct yourself." He nodded to himself. "First of all, I can show you how to manipulate small objects..."  
"Have perfect thing!"  
Stryfe raised an eyebrow.  
Rumaging in her pocket, Cayanne came up with a small package, dumping two seperate, largely formless globs into her hand. She tossed one to him, which he reflexively caught. "You keep dat one." A grin, full of love and trust, accompanied that comment.  
Years of dealing with various forms of gelatinous, dangerous explosives made him ask mildly, "Do I want to know what it is?"  
Cayanne laughed. "'Bout describes my brain right now - Silly Putty!"

Scott, Ororo, Logan, and Remy joined Hank and Professor Xavier in his office to discuss student performence reports.  
"Brendan's grades have shown marked improvement." said Scott, a slight smile crossing his face. Of the class, he was among the most delightful to work with - eager, intelligent, curious. Though he had started off with a third-grade education, he had rocketted forward, reaching his age-group in reading and mathematics and surpassing them in some areas in a few months. "And Zane is very bright, quick to learn. Liam is the one I'm concerned about. He's so shy he almost never speaks, and is so hesitant about adding to the class I'm afraid he's being sold short."  
The discussion went on for more than an hour, with the various concerns about the student body and their varying gifts and progress discussed, with ideas for enhancing the teaching environment bounced from one teacher to another.  
Finally, Remy asked, all too casually, "How Cayanne doin' in yer classes?"  
"She's a good student." Scott's voice held a note of hesitance, when the others regarded him questioningly, he shook his head, remembering the letter entrusted to him. "Sorry, that's all I can say right now - Cayanne understands literature very well. And she enjoys reading, which is a bit more than I can say for some of the kids." His frown was fond.  
"Her knowledge of history is a bit spotty." admitted Ororo. "She is very aware of Louisiana and Canadian history, but seems rather - indifferent - to most of the Northern States." She smiled. "And she insists of referring to the Civil War as "The War of Northern Agression"."  
"She approves of the South's stance on slavery?" Scott's voice was shocked while Remy chuckled.  
Logan snorted. "Nah, the kid just puts the first shot where it belongs, Scott." he grinned wolfishly. "I can understand that."  
It still sounded a little unusual to hear Logan call Scott by his proper name. But the long rivalry between the pair had changed into a deep bond of brotherhood that sometimes left the other X-Men shaking their heads in wonder.  
Hank spoke up then. "I am concerned, my friends." he said, eyes flickering briefly to Remy. "Cayanne seems to show signs of hyperactivity..."  
Remy's expression was startled, slightly amused. "Well, she active, what wrong with that?"  
Hank shook his head. "Hyperactivity is not the same as a person's activity level. It seems to be - and the condition is hardly fully understood - a form of brain activity that causes uncontrolled activity in body and mind. She is also likely HSP..."  
"HSP?" Ororo frowned a little in puzzlement.  
"Ah, forgive me." Hank rubbed a blue hand over his eyes. "HSP is a new classification. Not an illness, not at all. HSP stands, quite literally, for Highly Sensitive Person. Observant, able to draw very accurate mental images of others, it is assumed to occur in 15-20 of the population." He took a deep breath. "I also belive she is suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder..."  
Remy scowled, then shook his head. "She still not sleep well. If she sleep at all." his voice was soft. "I don't know what to do to help her, _mes amis._"  
"Normally, a regimen of medication would be an option." Again, the mutant deceptively known as Beast shook his head. "In this case, her struggle with addiction would make that most unwise."  
"No drugs." said Remy, voice harsh. "We treat her wit ot'hr ways, _oui?"_  
"Yeah." Logan said, from his position near the wall. "Count on that."

Cayanne sat on the floor, Indian-style, concentrating.  
Her gaze was on an orange, set a foot in front of her, and stubbornly still.  
"Concentrate." encouraged Stryfe, quietly. _"See _the object move."  
"Tryin'." mumbled the girl, fingertips twitching.  
"You fear another loss of control." stated the time-travelling telekenetic. "Let go of the fear."  
She glanced up at her friend. "Don' wanna take no chances." was the reluctant admission.  
"Try again." This time Stryfe lay a hand on her shoulder.  
Cayanne frowned with effort. Her gaze shifted back to the fruit, and she took a deep breath.  
The orange rose six inches into the air and stayed there.  
The teen-ager's expression was startled, and she actually jerked back a bit, prompting an explosion of rind, pulp, and fruit juice as her telekenetic grasp clenched around her target.  
Stryfe lifted a hand, shielding them from the backlash without effort. He had her strength roughly gauged now, and he again lowered his hand to her shoulder.  
_ Very gifted indeed_. he thought absently to himself, hands gentle on her shoulders.  
Cayanne wiped her face and grinned up at him "Guess we gonna be drinkin' orange juice for a while." she said, with a laugh.

Remy found his daughter perched on the edge of the couch-back, watching her friends build a truly impressive card-castle.  
_"Petit chére_, how you doin' dis mornin'?" he asked, wrapping a long arm around the slender girl.  
Cayanne looked up at him, love and trust in her eyes as she asked_, "Papa_, ever'one act wierd. Why?"  
The tall Cajun chuckled, but it was a loving sound. "We worry for you_, mon têtu petit amour_." he began, gently tilting back his daughter's chin to stare down into her eyes as she uttered a snort. "You not eat. You not sleep. Dis make me worry for you."  
_ "Papa_..." Cayanne's voice was low, then she sighed. "I not hungry."  
"And never tired?" Remy's voice was gentle, as she looked away, a frown on her sharp features. "You need sleep an' food. You trust me?" He had leaned close enough to allow them privacy.  
Cayanne looked away. "I...."  
"I make my gumbo t'night. You come be my taster." he suggested, guiding her toward the kitchen.

Cayanne sat on the edge of the counter, enjoying the sight of her father's kitchen antics.  
_"Peu trop doux_?" asked the girl, impishly.  
The tall Cajun turned with a grin. "Have to make it a bit light for de others_, chere_." he observed, offering her the ladel.  
Cayanne took an experimental drink, then nodded. _"Papa_, you still have de touch!" she laughed, as her father ruffled her hair affectionately.  
The warm banter went on as the pair worked on the gumbo.  
It reminded Cayanne of the times her father had chased everyone but her from the kitchen and they'd cooked a massive meal for the whole LeBeau clan (no small feat - the lot could eat more than half-starved gators!) and laughed and chattered through the entire process.  
Finally, the teen-ager asked_, "Papa_, you gonna marry Marie?"  
Remy almost lost his grip on his ladle, as he turned back to regard his daughter.  
Cayanne sighed, then grinned. "Jus' wanna know. You love her. She love you..." Her expression was impish.  
For a moment, Remy was silent, the ladle motionless in the air. _"Peu d'ange_, you remember I tell you 'bout my...wife?"  
_ "Oui_. She leave you." Cayanne's voice had dropped to a growl, hands clenching involentarily.  
Remy sighed, sprinkling a tiny bit of black pepper into the simmering pot, started to speak, but his daughter interupted him.  
_"Grand-père _tell story." said Cayanne, eyes flickering with darkened silver. "Belladonna betray _Papa_. And whole Guild." Her sharp, intelligent features showed her disdain of the woman. "He tell me file papers for when _Papa _want."  
Remy turned toward her, expression startled. "Papers?"  
"For divorce. Maybe time for _Papa _to not be married to Belladonna anymore?" Her expression was hopeful.  
Cayanne was a bit puzzled when her father took one step forward and hugged her tightly.  
But she hugged him back tightly, loving him all the more.

The night was just gaining it's chill when Cayanne stumbled into the library.  
She was shaking, and she hated herself for that.  
Part of her cried out for the numbness of the drug. Anything to dull the pain, the whirring _Surges_, the dim sense of _need._  
The itching in her hands was momentarily a dim burning, but she ignored that, resting her head on the cool metal of the librarian's desk. It was vaugely comforting.  
Coolness against the burning.  
Her stomach lurched, and she barely made it down the hallway and into the bathroom before her stomach vented it's contents into the toilet. The heaves contined as she clung to the railing next to the toilet, trembling with cold.  
Wiping her mouth, she managed to stumble backwards, tottering toward the hallway, pausing to lean against the wall..  
Finally, she stumbled back toward the kitchen for a glass of water.

Sitting in one of the hard-backed chairs, Cayanne sipped the cool water she'd retrieved only moments before.  
"Cayanne, why are you up so late, sweetheart?" the voice was concerned, and belonged to Scott Summers, who padded into the room in his pyjama pants and robe.  
"Jus' needed a glassa watter." Even to her own ears, her voice sounded a little hourse  
Scott pulled a chair out across from her and sat down, watching her with kind, sympatheic eyes.  
She leaned on her arm, trying to finish the water fast.  
"Better get back to bed_, oui_? See ya inna mornin'...." the teen-ager started to get up.  
"How long have you been throwing up, Cayanne?"  
The girl froze.  
Quietly, Scott continued, "Is it only sometimes? Or whenever you eat?"  
Scott saw Cayanne spin around, eyes ablaze, body rigid with defiance.  
He got up, watching her with compassion as he stood a few feet from her.  
"I didn't see it at first." he said, quietly. "But I know what it's like."  
"_Comme ce que est?" _Guarded again, eyes wary and uncertain.  
He watched her, trying to figure out how to tell her what he belived. Instead, he suggested, "Cayanne, tell me, are you happy with what you see in the mirror?"  
"C_e qui?_" A flicker, distant but there, of beginning awareness.  
"Here, sit back down, sweetheart." he coaxed.  
Reluctantly, the girl complied, watching him warily.  
"When I first came here, I was pretty young." Scott began, wondering how much to share at a time. "But the biggest problem was that I saw myself as - different than I really am."  
"Mutants have dat problem sometimes, Xavier say." Her eyes were narrowed.  
"It wasn't a mutation. It was fear."  
"_Crainte?"_  
He reached over and took her hand, held it in his. "Fear. Yeah." he shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "I thought I was ugly, and disgusting, and...fat..." It still hurt to say aloud.  
"You not fat." It was a statement, as those ebon-starlight eyes turned puzzled.  
"I saw myself as that. For a long, long time." Scott's gaze was empathic now. "Cayanne, do you think you're thin?"  
She shrugged. "Needa lose a few pounds." Her expression was uncomfortable.  
"No, Cayanne. You don't."  
She stared at him.  
"I - not see myself right?" her voice was low, uncertain.  
He put his hands on her shoulders, staring down into her eyes. "I think you're torturing yourself, Cayanne. Will you let me help you?" He made himself look as unthreatening as possible. If she couldn't extend her trust in this, the illness tormenting her would slowly tear her apart.  
She closed her eyes. _Sick in my mind? _A shiver struggled to become a shudder. _I not sane?_  
_ Cayanne? Scott? _Xavier's mental voice, gentle and concerned.  
The girl's head snapped up, and her shields slammed into place.  
"Trust me." whispered Scott, arm around her.  
"What dis t'ing, den?" _Maybe if it has a name, it won't be as bad, _she thought, disjointedly.  
"It's called annorexia nervosa." replied the leader of the X-Men, gently guiding the girl toward Xavier's office. "It can be helped, sweetheart."  
_Papa, I'm sorry. _she thought, wildly, a sense of dim, unfamilar panic scrabbling at the back of her throat.  
A gentle strand of love/support/encouragement swirled tenderly into her heart, an empathic touch from her father.  
The door of Xavier's library loomed in front of her, and Cayanne leaned against that warmth, feeling a sudden sense of incomprehensible relief.


	23. Interlude They Don't Understand

THEY DON'T UNDERSTAND

I move my hand down the strangely-flickering tube, seeing only symbols.  
That was my life - symbols of pieces, pieces of symbols.  
Chemicals.  
Definition.  
Yet never once did I dare allow myself to remember - _my son is dead_.  
Pain was a distant thing now, more a memory, faint and indistinct, shadows on my heart.  
My hand is cool, partially from the synthetic amniotic fluid, mostly from the fact my blood and bone were no longer warmed by natural blood.  
They don't understand.  
Humanity is a riotious lot, bend on self-destruction and hatred.  
They had always been so.  
I watch the still figure in the tube, the feeding tubes and other necessities checked constantly by both the computer and my discerning eye.  
In less than three generations, humans as they know themselves would be extinct.  
I couldn't bear to think...to remember...but I did.  
Hate in his eyes, fear in his heart.  
Caused by me.  
He didn't understand.  
So he left me, and in truth I hated him for that.  
It took time to reach a perspective.  
Now it was fear in his eyes and hate in his heart.  
I sigh, ignoring the attempts of one of my odious servants to report.  
They could wait.  
A snarl and crunch announced the impatiance of my well-hidden, favored child.  
My son.  
_Ah, well_. I think, ignoring the sounds of running, attempts to bring down my child, my son.  
More crunches, a shriek.  
_Children do need to play_. I think, idley.  
My son.  
His son.  
His son's son...  
In the end, the brothers and their brother.  
Genetically possessed of restraint, something not even my finest simulators can produce. Self-control. And mutant powers that I cannot duplicate.  
I finally call my son to my side, and he lopes to me, peers down into my eyes.  
Tall and strong, dangerous and loyal, my only survivng son.  
I touch his arm, see the serrated claws extend, then retract.  
He watches me, and I feel a strange, brief warmth.  
"What did you find, my son?" I keep my eyes on his, see him lift a hand, claws out.  
"Find him." I instruct, holding his shoulders.  
Sometimes he paid no attention, following his darker instincts.  
He turned his strange, alien head to the exit, then started that way.  
I turn back to watching the life in the tube.  
A slight deviation from the norm, but a soldier, as the idiotic "military" had asked for.  
Just that.  
I never forgot a failure, it was both a gift and curse.  
The system reported the genetic programming was complete.  
I could deliver the male soldier to them in a day's time.  
I feel my lips curve in an unfamiliar gesture.  
Of course, it lacked free will.  
And much of an intelligence.  
A biological machine.  
I hear my son take to the air and I turn to the equations dancing over the board.  
My son would find Scott Summers and his siblings for me, and in due time I would be able to recover my son's mind from the shattered remnants that remained.  
Scott did not understand.  
Nor did his brothers.  
Of course he did not, how could he?  
Perhaps, at one point, if I had explained...  
But that was against my nature, and it was against his to blindly obey.  
I had erred.  
Four Summers children, three I knew. One, despite my best efforts, remained a mystery.  
I tapped the commands to begin a new sequance.  
_Tiresome, these soldiers._ I thought, amused. One was interchangable with the other, and I had molded them as per the request given.  
Six foot, two inches.  
Dark blonde hair.  
Blue eyes.  
Muscular build.  
_Boring_, I thought. There was no variety, as between others fitting the same description would have.  
They were all soldiers, all precisely the same.  
Even a madman had to have a sense of humor, and this was mine.  
I rise, then turn to accept a report, lifting one eyebrow.  
"We're ready, Sinister."  
I smile inwardly, perhaps a mad smile, but a smile nonetheless.  
Nathanial Essex wept silently over the loss of his first son, then the madness of his second.  
Sinister rose and went through the door.  
Sometimes I do not know which I am, in general it doesn't matter.  
I have my own agenda, my own plans.  
They didn't understand.  
But then...  
I didn't need them to...  
Do I?  



	24. Madness Only Shown

******_CAJUN CINNAMON_**  
**Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle  
**  
Chapter XVI  
**_"Madness Only Shown"  
_**  
Cayanne sat reluctantly in the comfortable chair, eyes on Xavier as he listened to Scott explain his discovery.  
Half of her just wanted to get up, leave, forget this had ever happened.  
The other half was confused, wanting to at least _understand _the thing that the X-Man said was making her crazy.  
That thought made her wince inwardly.  
The idea of being - insane - shook her. She didn't _feel _insane, but then, what was insane supposed to feel like?  
Her thoughts were all knotted and shuddering within her when she felt Xavier's eyes on her.  
She turned to regard him. "What?" she demanded, instinctively defensive.  
"Annorexia nervosa." He sounded thoughtful, a bit worried, and slightly paternal. All factors that brought a scowl to the young mutant's face. "Cayanne, do you know what it is?"  
_"Non_. But betcha gonna break out de fancy vocab'lary." she grumbled, hiding her troubled gaze.  
"It is a condition of self-image." His expression was kind, compassionate.  
"Crazies." shrugged the young Cajun, trying to make light of her sudden fear.  
"Not at all." Xavier's voice was soothing. "A disorder, yes, but insanity - no." He leaned slightly over his desk, regarding the teen-ager with a gentle, but firm gaze. "It means that we will have to watch your weight, and plan meals that you _must _eat a certain amount of."  
Cayanne crossed her arms, stubbornly. "What if I not hungry?" she demanded.  
"Perhaps we can find some foods to stimulate your appitite."  
"If _Papa _cook, I eat." she said, firmly.  
"You cannot eat only your father's cooking. You need variety."  
Cayanne's shadowed eyes regarded him with unyeilding will. "Not eat jus' anything, some stuff not stay down." she finally admitted, in a low voice.  
Scott put a gentle hand on her shoulder, and Xavier smiled gently. "Then Hank can doubtless be of great help. Perhaps we should speak to him tommarrow?" he suggested, kindly.  
Cayanne took a deep breath. Then, "After classes."  
"Of course."  
The teen-ager rose then, and left at speed, leaving behind a painful secret - and Scott and Xavier regarding one another with no little relief.

Strike.  
Parry.  
Spin.  
Dodge.  
_Crack!_  
Cayanne swirled to a halt, quarterstaff at half-rest, as Logan gestured time.  
Shoulders heaving, the teen-ager bowed to her teacher, a slight grin on her face.  
"Yer still leadin' with yer left shoulder." said the older mutant, returning the bow as _sensei _to student.  
Cayanne's shrug was matched with her swiveling onto her right foot, spinning the staff easily over in her other hand. "We try again?" she asked, bouncing from foot to foot.  
"Once more." agreed Logan - and charged her, claws extended.  
With a keen awareness of her position, Cayanne leaped straight up, swinging her staff in a wide arc as she went airborne. It was better to be up than down, she knew, and if Logan could get a grip on her the sparring match was over. She lacked the leverage to throw him effectively - especially backed into a corner.  
Using the muscular shoulder of her teacher as a springboard, the agile Cajun flipped over him, coming down just as Logan's fist punched inward. The staff cracked against his wrist, as the other hand came around, knocking the teen-ager headlong.  
Rolling frantically to avoid either a kick or blow, she swung up, at the unprotected belly.  
Logan caught the staff between his claws, locking it in place as he spun on his heel.  
Cayanne rode the impetus of the swing, bouncing off the wall to arc into Logan foot-first - but she had to relinquish her staff to make the manuver.  
Now unarmed, she danced and dodged out of Logan's reach, until finally he swept her feet, sending her to the floor as his claws stopped an inch from her face.  
"Time." he rumbled.  
"Now dat move I never see." she gasped out, sweat pouring down her face.  
"Good try, darlin'." said Logan, hunkering down in front of her. "You're gettin' better."  
Cayanne simply flopped backwards, arms akimbo, breathing hard. "Not good 'nough yet_, oui_?" she commented.  
Sitting down himself, the mutant known as Wolverine withdrew a stogie and lit it, watching his student with amusement.  
"Somethin' on yer mind?"  
"Yeah. Ever' one worry 'cause I not eat much."  
"Darlin', you don't eat period." Logan's expression was neutral, not accusing, and the teen-ager opened one eye to regard him a moment. "Even I gotta eat." And he grinned then, toothily, welcoming the slight smile he got in response.  
"Dis different." Cayanne rolled to her stomach, uttering a sigh of pent-up frustration. "I just not hungry. Why it matter, anyhow? I not gonna waste away!" She lighty punched the _tatami, _more in frustration than real anger, then continuted, "Feel like ever' time I look at food, stomach do imitation of de swamp."  
Logan lifted a bushy eyebrow. "Swamp?"  
"Yeah. Murky, hidden, and way too active fer a dark place."  
The older mutant chuckled at the description. "Well, darlin', try this. Eat what you like, but don't stuff yourself. Tell Gumbo..."  
"Remy."  
Logan regarded her with another unreadable gaze.  
"_Papa's _name is Remy." Cayanne raised her chin in a stubborn line.  
"Tell him whatcha like. We'll go from there." He grinned suddenly, giving the girl's shoulder a light squeeze. "Ever had _sushi_?"

Cayanne followed Logan's graceful movements, flowing though the movements of the _kata. _Focusing her mind and body's movements, the Cajun teen-ager found some measure of peace in the rythmic, symmetric movements.  
Chaos was an everyday thing in her life, and most of the time she most of the time Cayanne didn't just ride the wave - she surfed it. But this idea of anorexia shook her, despite her outward dismissal, and she needed time to sift it though her inner senses.  
The _kata _served an important role in training, Logan had taught her. It was much like the stretching exercises done by athletes after a workout, to ease back to a regular heart-rate and such. But a _kata _eased one back into normal life. It was important, and Cayanne instinctively grasped that fact.  
Finishing, she felt calmer, but still a bit shaken.  
She had to talk to Xavier. She'd promised.  
And Cayanne LeBeau kept her promises.

Remy was seated at the kitchen table, holding Marie's hand in his, speaking in quiet tones, but he looked up and smiled as Cayanne paused to grin at her tall father, then hugged him tight in greeting.  
Turning to Marie, she said impishly, "Keep _Papa _outta trouble_, oui_?" And bounded up the stairs in with a laugh.

Xavier and Jean were both trying to be kind - Cayanne knew that - but she was not as fragile as they seemed to think.  
Or was she?  
_Gaaaah! Dis makin' me nuts! If I not dere already! _she groaned to herself.  
"Lemme get dis straight. You want me "talk dis out" wit Byron, _oui?"_  
"Well...yes." replied Xavier, carefully. He watched the volitle young Cajun neutrally, while very gently letting her sense his concern. Letting it lay on the outside of his mind, not pressing against her's. She watched him, eyes shielded behind the glasses she wore everywhere.  
In some ways, she reminded him of Scott. Hidden behind a careful facade, an agile and hungry mind absorbed and analyzed, always eager for more.  
"I talk t' Rafe easier." grumbled Cayanne, her hands tight on the chair.  
"Then by all means, share your concerns with him." Xavier encouraged, feeling somewhat bemused. Once Stryfe had been among the X-Men's deadliest, most merciless foes. Now he was one of Cayanne's teachers, and it was no secret the irrepressable Cajun loved the telekenetic dearly.  
Jean was startled, but agreed whole-heartedly.  
"Fine. I do de diet t'ing." was the growled comment. "If dat what it take."  
"You are not insane, Cayanne." Xavier found that concept important to enforce. "Hardly. You simply have a slightly distorted image of yourself, one that can be helped."  
"Mirror, mirror, on de wall..." quoted the teen-ager, making a face.  
"Cayanne!" but Jean was smiling.  
"I sup'ose next t'ing ya want is fer me t' do de "go inna town" t'ing wit de others."  
"Such outings are aids to growth."  
"Bah! So far on dese outin's, I been near smooshed! Call me a bit careful, den!" she chuckled.  
"Cayanne!" It was Xavier's turn.  
"Not give up sparrin' wit Logan, or time with _Papa._" Cayanne made that very clear.  
"Certainly not." agreed the Professor.  
"Fine. I go talk t' Byron." With that, Cayanne bounced to her feet, and was out the door before either adult could comment.  
There was a long pause.  
"Well, Cayanne did keep her word." said Xavier, dryly.  
Jean burst out laughing, sending a mental message to Marie and Ororo to add one more to their Saterday movie and shopping excursion with the older kids.  
.


	25. Surging Forward

******_CAJUN CINNAMON_**  
**Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle  
**  
Chapter XVII  
**_"Surging Forward"  
_**  
Cayanne lay, sprawled comfortably, on the RecRoom couch, head in Stryfe's lap, book propped on her knees, reading a textbook on ancient history, ignoring the Wensday night racket of the teen-agers discussing the upcoming weekend.  
She drummed her fingers lightly against the binding, trying to focus on her reading - she was intrested, currently, in Ancient Egypt and reading avidly on the subject - this was her eighteenth book regarding the civilization's history and culture.  
Her father had plans to go with Marie to dinner and a movie on Saturday, and Cayanne had the feeling that, though she was dearly loved - too many loving smiles and ruffles of her hair in passing let her even entertain a moment's doubt - her _Papa _and the woman he loved needed some - quality time.  
"Cayanne?" Hank's voice was calling, as he made his way through the kitchen.  
"I not here, Rafe!" she whispered, theatrically, elicting a raised eyebrow in reply.  
"Ah, there you are!" the furred mutant seemed pleased as he approached the couch. "I have a few suggestions for improvements in your rather disturbing diet of late."  
"Do tell." The man formerlly known as Stryfe was intrested as he rested a protective hand on her shoulder.  
"Cayanne has not been eating well." said Hank, honestly, patting the teen-ager's other shoulder reassuringly.  
"Mind if I join dis conversation?" asked the young Cajun, dryly.  
There was a guilty instant of silence before Hank said, "I do apologize, Cayanne."  
Stryfe regarded the girl with a searching gaze, reciving a wordless shrug.  
"Not hungry." she muttered, but her friend's hand came to rest gently but firmly on her shoulder, as Hank started toward the kitchen.  
Cayanne snorted, but reluctantly let herself be guided toward an early lunch.

Encouraged by Hank's menu, Remy had finished lunch and sat down a steaming bowl of his famous Cajun chili, sliding a bowl in front of his daughter. He dropped into a chair across from her with an encouraging grin, aware of Zane and Brendan ladling healthy servings into their own bowls, sitting down nearby.  
Cayanne stirred her own bowl absently, then, seeing the concern in her father's eyes, began to eat.

Zane and Brendan were playing a spirited game of catch while Liam sat on the steps, watching silently, with Fabian sprawled on the grass, staring up at the sky.  
Occasionally, flickers of light swirled through Fabian's skin, and his eyes would give a brief glow, before returning to their normal color.  
"I d-d-don't understand." Liam whispered, after a few minutes. "W-why d-do they w-want us t-to s-study all th-this?" Shy and soft-spoken, the small, fragile boy seemed to stammer every few seconds, a fact his friends never brought up. "A-and th-the o-others...."  
"Who knows?" replied Brendan, stretching out luxuriously in the sunlight. "Probably to get us to see their side."  
Liam looked down and Fabian gave his leg a friendly swat. "Don't worry, buddy. You're doin' great." he encouraged.  
"Yeah." Brendan grinned, running a hand through his mop of golden hair. "In the top five of the class."  
Fabian cocked an eyebrow, then grinned.  
Liam looked down.  
Brendan touched his shoulder, gently, in concern. "You're scared of telling them, aren't you, Li?" his voice was soft. "About these guys finding out..." He stopped, glanced over at Fabian, who sat up and gave Liam a one-armed hug of support.  
"I-if they s-see me, th-they will h-hate..." Tears dampened the mask, and suddenly Zane was there, arms protectively encircling the smaller boy. "Th-they will h-hate me t-too." He buried his face in Zane's athletic shoulder, trembling with memory.  
"They won't hurt ya, Li." Zane murmered, while his companions gathered closer, wordlessly protective.  
"Th-they d-don't kn-know....a-and I-I d'don't th-think they w-will l-like..."  
"T'hell with them." said Zane, fiercely. "We stick together, right guys?"  
Fierce nods, almost in unison.  
"C-Cayanne....sh-she i-is...i-is sh-she h-happy h-here?"  
"Cay could have fun at a financial meeting." Zane suddenly grinned. "Assumin' she didn't take it over."  
"Okay, let's get ready then." said Brendan, an impish grin spreading across his features.  
"Fer what?" asked Fabian, leaning back into the grass.  
"The same thing we get ready for every night! T'try to take over the world!"  
The quote from _Pinky and the Brain _made everyone but Liam groan theatrically, as Brendan grinned.

Thursday morning, Cayanne was energetically typing away on her newest creation - a satellite uplink that would increase Cerebro's range by three times - and half the power. She had examined the schematics (that-she-wasn't-supposed-to-know-about) and ran it over in her head until she found the strengths and weaknesses.  
It was almost 2pm when she saved her work - and Scott turned off the computer.  
"Hey!" the Cajun teen-ager spun around, glaring up at the teacher. "Why you do dat? More to do!"  
"It's 2 o'clock, Cayanne." A smile had worked it's way down Scott's normally pensive features, as the younger mutant snorted.  
"Dat true, an'?" she asked, leaning back in the chair.  
"Have you finished your...."  
"Math'matics? _Contrôle_. English paper on de classics? _Contrôle_. Report on de ancient world's 'litical structure? _Contrôle_...." Cayanne began ticking the assignments off on her graceful, quick fingers and her teacher frowned.  
"What have you done for your Internet social report?"  
"Done on de use business of de search eng'ne for social aren'a." Cayanne's expression was impish.  
"What?" Scott was puzzled.  
"Lemme put another way, _oui_?" Her eyes took on a gleam that would make the most iron-willed of souls nervous. "Why we get dose silly porno ads inna mail."  
"Cayanne!"  
"I not dead_, Chef Courageux_." she said, dryly.  
"Of course not, but....but...." Scott was sputtering, and he could _swear _that teen-aged swamp rat was enjoying it! "It's..."  
"If you not loosen up, your face gonna freeze like 'at."  
_"Cayanne_!"  
Cayanne rolled her eyes, partially amused, partially annoyed.  
"I want you to do something else."  
_"Pourquoi_?" Those argent-on-ebon eyes narrowed then, demanding answers on why her freedom was being curtailed, even slightly.  
For a moment, Scott floundered. It was true, she _had _focused on a social delimma, just one he wasn't quite sure he wanted dealt with by his teen-age students quite yet. Or was it _he _didn't want to deal with it? He considered that a moment. The whole subject was....unnerving.  
"Because I'd like to see you do something on live social interaction."  
_"Grande_. Cayanne go watch television an' get back t' you."  
_ Oh no you don't_. Scott turned the system back on and booted the chat protocol, finding a list of "rooms". "One of these, and live, current events, Cayanne." he said, trying for a stern tone, handing her a composition book and a pen from his drawer.  
Cayanne snorted, fingertips flying across the keys. "Dis once, den_, Chef Courageux_, I do your way." _Because I promised my father_, was not said, but understood.  
Scott smiled, patted the girl's shoulder, and left to check on the other students.

Cayanne wandered the chat lounges, which ranged - in her opinion - from the inane, to the intresting, to the downright obnoxious.  
A title caught her eye, and she tapped a query in, both eyebrows rising and a snort indicating her disdain - "Friends of Humanity" indeed!  
_Mutants human, _she growled to herself, wondering how those morons managed to avoid that fact. _Homo sapians sapians sapians, homo superior, t'ough I prefer de "homo sapians evolutionis" - even t'ough make Jean laugh._  
Debating on an online name, she decided with an evil smile to "infiltrate" the odious orginization.  
Tapping a long, elegant finger against her almost pointed chin, Cayanne entered her handle.  
"KilltheMuties".  
_Gaaah, what I do fer de project - you owe Cayanne, _Chef Courageux!  
She entered the chat room.

_Hi, KilltheMuties, m/f? _popped up immediately.  
_Don't dese idiots have any oth'r way find a date? Bah._  
_ F. _she typed in, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the names on the "buddies" bar.  
_Age?_  
_ Get life! _Cayanne snarled, inwardly, as she was bombarded with similar idiocy. _No reason tell real age. _she consoled herself. _Couldn't if wanted to anyhow, not know._  
_21 today! Yay!! Gonna go get myself a beer tonight for the first time! _Nice, clean-cut, innocent kid. Right.  
_Congradulations, KtM! _added _MutiesareEvil. I have a son about your age._  
_ Really? _Cayanne was more intrested in the reproductive habits of lichin, but she feigned intrest while taking notes.  
_His name is Kevin, he was accepted to Martindale last month._  
_ Martindale?_  
_ It's a small private college near Bethesda._  
Cayanne entered that in her notes, and soon discovered the hateful element the members of this room were capable of.  
_We got a mutie out of the public elementery today, guys. _said _PureHuman. Had some defects that scared the kids._  
Cayanne was immediately more intrested. A kid kicked out of school?  
_What was wrong with them? Damn muties are getting to be everywhere. _grumbled _GetMutiesFixed._  
_ Damn freak was some kind of mind-reader, had wierd eyes._  
_ What happened? _asked _DoMutiesHaveSouls._  
_ We had to notify the parents, they'll take care of it._  
_ God, that's scary, things like that associating with human children. _said _GetMutiesFixed._  
_ My husband had a long talk with our junior high, _said _MutiesareEvil. Two kids had to be suspended - well, three, but one of the damn muties died of some wierd disease a few days later._  
_ One less for us to worry about, _said _PureHuman._  
_ LOL! _added _GetMutiesFixed._  
_ lol, _was _DoMutiesHaveSouls _comment.  
Cayanne shuddered, but noted the IP addresses of the culprits, and tracked down the two junior high mutants.  
Amie Iverson was thirteen, Terry Eison was twelve. Both had good school records, hadn't been in much trouble - Terry had been in a couple of fights, but that was it.  
Enfer_, I been in more fights den he has_! Cayanne thought.  
Then, while occasionally adding a comment here or there, she found the young elementary school victim, discovering he was the youngest of three children (an elder sister and brother) named Cole Masters. Despite memorizing them, she noted them in her composition book.  
The next comment made her sit up straight.  
_ We're gonna teach that mutie school a lesson tommorow, PureHuman_ was saying.

Byron knocked on Professor Xavier's door, and was somewhat suprised to see one of the older students, Burt Gibson, stomp out.  
Pausing a polite moment, he entered the telepath's inner sanctum and spoke quietly. "Trouble in paradise?" asked the younger professor, smiling with a faint sadness as settled into the indicated chair.  
"Young Mr. Gibson seems to enjoy nothing but football." said Xavier, shuffling the records he'd been reviewing with a sigh. "His grades have begun to drop, and I felt it important to suspend him from the sport for a few weeks." He shook his head.  
"Burt belives he will be a famous quarterback once he reaches eighteen." observed Byron, sympathizing. He was careful to never broach patient-doctor confidentiality, but the young man's ambition was hardly a secret. The psychiatrist waited a long moment, then said carefully,  
"Charles, I have an observation." Drumming his fingers on the chair-arm absently, Byron continued, "Cayanne has done nothing but make her room a storage repository." The younger professor said it in such a way he obviously belived revealed something.  
"She is quite private." Xavier said it mostly to keep the younger man talking, as he set his pen down and gave his guest his undivided attention. The younger man tended to be brief when worried, which he obviously was.  
"I think it is a subconsious safety net. As long as she doesn't get too comfortable, she can leave anytime." explained Byron, running a hand through his dark blonde hair. "I've brought it up in the last session, but she always changes the subject. I...don't think she's sleeping, Charles. And she's still having difficulty eating - I'm getting very worried."  
Xavier frowned, and shook his head. "Has she made any mention of why?" he asked, voice carrying a note of his own concern.  
"No. I think she's afraid of sleeping." Byron brought out his small Lego set from his pocket and began to reassemble it, never glancing at his rapidly-moving hand. "Bordering on phobic."  
"I shall speak to Remy about it."  
Byron considered, Legos flowing through his agile fingers, then suggested, "Let me try first, Charles. I have an idea."

Logan heard the whoop as Cayanne came flying at him in a roundhouse kick, dancing and spinning around his punches.  
Even without her quarterstaff, the Cajun teen was an agile and devious fighter, combining street smarts, her newfound martial arts skills, and sheer cussedness to keep up with her mentor. Even when he got her flat on her back, the irrepressable teen somehow wriggled free, rolling to the side and trying a leg-sweep.  
_ Sneaky. _Logan thought to himself, with an inward grin as he pinned her, elbow inches from her vunerable throat.  
Fearless starlight-on-night eyes peered up at him, sparkling with inner fire and passion.  
And she brought a knee up, rolling Logan off her, scrambling for perchace and hopping to her feet.  
Logan came up in a leap, leg almost parallel to his torso, and caught the teen-ager's shoulder and sending her to the _dojo_'s mat.  
"Time." he said, offering her a hand up.  
Climbing to her feet, she grinned up at him. "Almost hadja_, oui_?"  
Despite himself, Logan grinned back. "Did ya, darlin'?" he asked, eyebrows rising.  
Cayanne burst out laughing. "Getcha next time_, Serre de Blaireau_." she said, impishly.  
The taller mutant stared at her. "What?" he asked, reaching for a stogie.  
"Badger Claws!" and the irrepressable Cajun made her escape, laughter floating after her.

"Excuse me, Mister Logan?" The speaker was the new psychologist, which put Logan instantly on guard.  
"Yeah?" he almost growled, hanging up his newly-washed _gi _neatly up in the locker he had claimed.  
"May I speak with you a moment?" The young man seemed not at all put off by the gruffness in the other man's voice.  
Logan turned around, regarding the psychologist steadily, then shrugged.  
"Has Cayanne seemed - ah - unusually withdrawn, secretive to you?" Byron asked, falling in step with the other mutant.  
"Kid has her secrets, bub." Logan absently dodged a tardy young mutant who called "Sorry!" as he dashed across the hallway toward Jean's science class, shaking a vicious ooze from tentacle-like fingers.  
"She does indeed." Byron nodded. He regarded Logan, noticing again how much his physical appearance had changed. Taller, leaner, more angular, the mutant known as Wolverine had an even more feral appearance than before. His eyes were golden-hazel, features revealing nothing of his inner thoughts, and Byron wondered if the change had disturbed him - Logan seemed to take to his new form as though he'd been born into it, and the young psychologist was abruptly unsure if that was good or bad.  
"Ya got a question?" Logan asked, turning to face the younger man as they reached the bottom of the stairs.  
"I'm concerned that Cayanne is not taking advantage of her room." Byron explained. "She stores her possessions there, but nothing else. It's as if she's made sure - unconciously - that she can leave at any moment. Or might be forced to."  
Logan regarded the psychologist a long, searching moment, then headed for his room, deep in thought.

Cayanne leapt up on the bannister and slid agiley down, nearly giving Marie a cardiac arrest as she went airborne, flipping over twice and coming down with cat-like silence.  
"_Bonjour, Mère_!" she called, catching sight of Zane and Justin and charging through the door before Marie could say a word.  
"Cayanne!" she called, starting out herself before being caught in an affectionate embrace from behind. "Remy!" she said, unable to hide her delight. The conciousness of contact was a joy she could not get enough of - especially from the tall Cajun.  
_"Ce qui est la matière, cher_?" he asked, smiling down at her.  
"Cayanne just went bannister-surfing again." fumed Marie, quoting the young Cajun's own description. "Just ran by, said "Good morning, Marie", and kept on going! She could get hurt..." She was suprised by Remy's grin.  
_"Bonjour, Mère_?" he asked.  
"Yes." Marie was puzzled when he started to laugh.  
"Cayanne not say Marie_, cher." _He smiled again, ruby highlights sparkling in his red-on-black eyes. "_Mère, cher, _not Marie. She call you "Mom"."

Reluctantly, Cayanne trudged up toward her room, hearing the first rumbles of thunder as the moon's light fled behind clouds of shadow.  
_Surge!_  
She was almost knocked off her feet, clutching the side of the banister for balance.  
_Surge...drowning...Surge....pain....Surge....burning....Surge...need...need...need...._  
_ Non! _she snarled inwardly, managing to get in her room and sink to her knees. She tried for meditive calm, as Logan had started to teach her, but panic - infuriating, desperate panic - scrabbled dryly at the back of her throat.  
_SurgeSurgeSurge... _Peaks of wild images, pain and need and wanting, confusion and - _blood on a symbol she could never see. Handprint. Blurry. Moving. Voices hiss-whispering. Need. Hunger. Want._  
_ Feed._  
_ Non, non, NON! _Cayanne scrambled in her small dufflebag, hands trembling, and realized with an inner chill she was looking for the drug.  
She forced her hand back out, whispering to herself, Non_, promised_ Papa_. Won' break dat, no matter what_. Non  
Blurred images, maddening and confusing, swirled together like a pool of oil, set to burn.  
Cayanne felt tears in her eyes, fighting for release, and she forced them down.  
Her eyes caught another object, and she reached for it, staring down at the small case.  
_Dey be awful upset dey find out. _she said, inwardly.  
_Dey not find out, den. _another part of her replied, coldly logical.  
_It hurt. _Cayanne admitted to herself. _Hurt. I a mess. Need..._  
_ SURGESURGESURGESURGE...._  
Rushing down the mercifully clear hallway, the Cajun teen-ager managed to get to the bathroom in time to empty her rebellious stomach into the toilet.  
She held the small case tightly, then came to a decision when the Surging seemed to increase, hammering in her head.  
A moment later, Cayanne thought to herself with black humor, _Well, dey wanted me sleep...  
_  
Zane and Liam were both in Scott's class - a fact which annoyed the older of the two no end, since they had to put up with Althea - and currently playing a spirited game of basketball when Liam suddenly froze, hidden face somehow showing shock.  
"C-Cayanne?" he said, soft voice full of horror. "No!" He clutched his head, sinking to his knees, crying out as Zane leapt to his side, cushioning him against his shoulder.  
"H-Hurt. Pain! Needs...Blurry....it's blurry_....hurts...."_  
Scott hurried over to the two younger mutants, and was suprised when Zane swung wildly at him.  
"Get away!" snarled the angelic youth.  
"Easy, Zane." Scott tried for a comforting tone, crouching down next to the pair. "What happened?"  
"I dunno." Zane rocked his friend against him. "Cayanne must be feelin' somethin', Li's real sensitive ta feelin's."  
Scott exchanged a look with Logan over the boys' heads, and set out to find the irrepressable teen.

In the end, Logan took less than two minutes to barge into the girls' bathroom, elicitng a seductive smile from the towel-clad Althea and a shriek of shock from one of the other girls - colored a strange shade of green - both of which he ignored.  
Making his way to the back of the large room, he was tearing a door off it's hinges when Scott caught up with him - and froze in horror.  
Cayanne was semi-concious, staring with a kind of detached facination at the multiple deep cuts across her wrists.  
Her ever-present gloves were folded neatly beside her, and by the look of her bleeding wrists, this was not the first of such slices.  
Logan caught her wrists and held the pressure points firmly, watching the faint spurts come to a swift end as he scooped Cayanne up and headed for the MedBay.  
_Dammit, kid, you don't get off that easy! _Logan snarled to himself.

Two hours and thirty stitches later, Cayanne was sipping tea and avoiding anyone's gaze while staring moodily into the warm liquid.  
"What tha hell were ya thinkin'?!" exploded Logan, eliciting a sidelong look from Scott.  
"It really matter?" There was an edge of weariness to her tone that made the words come out softly, which seemed to make Logan even more angry.  
"It damn well matters, darlin'." he almost snarled.  
She drew her skinny legs up to her chest, resting her chin medatively on her knees.  
"I'll get Remy." Scott said, softly, touching Logan's shoulder.  
"_Non! Se vous plait._" Cayanne said, jerking her head up. "No. Not need..."  
"Lissen kid." It seemed to worry Logan further when the expected thump was not delivered on his sturdy shoulder. "Ya wanna talk about it?"  
"_Non." _Cayanne closed her eyes, but murmered. "Maybe...not make any sense, t'ough. All blurry image an' feelin'. Nothin'...'cept when..." She stopped. "Don' know what happened." The teen-ager set the tea aside. "Jus'....like lightnin' flashes." Abruptly, she changed the subject. "You know Cayanne not even know when she born?" A faint laugh, pained ghost of her normal fiery chuckle. "Or where." She waved an absent hand, obviously dismissing that fact. "All dat matter is dat _Papa, _he give me - family_, oui_?" She opened her eyes. "Before dat, before try to pickpocket _Papa, _I not have past." She tilted her forehead forward, resting it against her knees.  
Logan nodded in perfect empathy, which made Cayanne cock her head up toward him.  
"I woke up one day inna woods with snow all aroun' me and no memory of how I got there." Logan told the younger mutant, eliciting widened eyes. The information was not in his profile, and obviously Remy had not shared that with her. "Wasn't even sure how long I was there. I was just....wild."  
Cayanne turned up her wrists, not quite asking, but searching for a way to connect to the idea that she was not alone in her confusion.  
"I tried fer more than a year, darlin'." Logan said, and Scott's head turned to his brother in shock. "Hell, I even gutted myself - but I couldn't die. Hurt like hell, yeah, but not die."  
"Cayanne....sorry." she said, a hand coming down to rest on Logan's.  
The older mutant looked down at that long-fingered, graceful hand for a long moment, then caught her fingers in his in a gentle squeeze.  
Finally, the teen-ager spoke again. "It not stop. Jus' gets...blurry 'round de edges, _oui?_"  
"What doesn't?" Logan asked, not letting that oddly elegant hand go.  
Cayanne looked away, out the window, and then back into Logan's eyes, a frown on her angular face.  
Scott stood near the door, trying to project encouragement.  
"Surges." the Cajun said, finally. "Dey come, not stop...nothin' stop dem." Frustration made her scowl. "Dey too...too _loud..._"  
Scott spoke gently, watching her with concern. "Are they telepathic?"  
Cayanne shook her head. "_Non._ Not like dat. No words, no feelin', not like dat. Jus'...flashes dat rise an' fall." she glanced sidelong at Logan, as though asking a question.  
A nod, another squeeze of her hand.  
"I wantcha t' talk ta Chuck and Byron."  
"Logan...." Cayanne began, eyes turning smokey with internal disquiet, but her mentor shook his head.  
"Lissen. You talk t' Chuck about this, I won't tell Remy about yer strange shavin' accident."  
"Dat blackmail!"  
Scott smiled at Logan, seeing the silver fire start to burn again in the teen-ager's vivid eyes.  
"Yup."  
Cayanne crossed her arms over her chest and huffed..  
Logan grinned wolfishly, then added, "Make a deal with ya, darlin'." Intrested eyes looked up at him. "You let Hank check ya out, an' talk t' Chuck - an' I'll teach ya some new moves."  
"I hold you to dat!" grumbled Cayanne.  
Logan lit a stogie, and grinned when the teen-ager held her nose in disgust.  
"Lookin' forward to it, darlin'."


	26. Hidden Beneath

******_CAJUN CINNAMON_**  
**Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle  
**  
_ :: This chapter is dedicated to Nadja Lee, webmistress, list mom, and all-around great person. :) ::  
_  
_ What secrets lay hidden, just beneath the surface? And are they a boon - or a horror?  
_  
Chapter XVIII  
**_"Hidden Beneath"  
_**  
****Cayanne didn't want to talk about it, the Surges in her head, tearing at her mind, and stared irritably at the cieling of the MedLab.  
Reluctantly, she looked down at her hands, and half-spun, snatching her gloves from the bedside table.  
She slid them on, clenched her fist experimentally, and hopped down.  
Even now, the MedLab had an oddly ominous air.  
What made it worse was that she didn't know _why.  
_  
**"**We got company comin' in, guys." said Zane, entering the room.  
It was after midnight, and in theory the small group was supposed to be in bed.  
Liam was sitting on the floor of one of the storerooms upstairs, while Brendan lay sprawled on one of the old, battered couches and Graham settled against the wall, seating himself silently.  
Silent as a whisper, Justin settled his wings around himself and hung upside-down from one of the cieling beams.  
Zane waited a moment longer, then nodded and Justin nudged the door shut with his tail.  
"Owen is bein' sent here in a few days." said the angelic-appearing boy, watching the reactions of his companions. "Along with Alfie,Nick, an' Rory."  
"Cayanne's gonna flip." observed Brendan, feet up on the couch while he stared upside down at the wall.  
"Sh-should we...t-tell Cayanne?" asked Liam, looking up tentatively.  
"N'yet." replied Zane. "Let's find out what when and who's bringin' 'em." returned Zane, giving the shy boy a one-armed hug of support.

Cayanne was was dreaming, but she couldn't remember falling asleep.  
Metal and cold and pain, whispers and rasps of movement, all swirled together into a flurry of confusion.  
_Anger. Pain._  
Sharp-edged and savage, wild and aching, the feeling-sense tore into her sleep-awareness.  
Eyes staring at her, enjoying the helplessness and rage.  
Suprise.  
Blood and rage and savage _need._  
_ Dream, jus' a nightmare....why can't I wake up? _the frantic thoughts flashed through her mind.  
Run.  
Chased.  
Blood.  
_ Wakeupwakeupwakeup...!!!_  
"Cayanne?"  
Hand on her shoulder, warm dark gaze, as her eyes snapped open.  
"Wha....?" she managed, past a dry throat. _Damnez-le, de water. _Imbécile stupide_, gettin' sloppy, slow an' sloppy! _Then, fury. "You drug me!" Her expression was fierce, outraged.  
Xavier sighed as the young woman flung herself forward, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, eyes glowing with rage.  
"Yes. I did." The Professor watched the tilt of her chin, the faint narrowing of her eyes, the tension of her shoulders. He wheeled himself forward, stopping at the side of the bed. "I'm sorry." It was honest, but he kept his voice firm. "You're exausted, whether you admit it or not. Would you like to talk about it?"  
A snort, then a sigh. _"Non_. But Cayanne make promise, so...." A shrug.  
The Professor placed a reassuring hand on her knee, watched those silver-touched ebon eyes turn to regard first that, then back to meet his eyes. A faint, slick sound announced the opening of the MedLab door - and the arrival of Byron.  
.  
The figure was tall and lean, but the shadows hid any specifics.  
Around it knelt a half-circle of black-clad figures, apparent only by faintly-guttering torches on the stone walls.  
"You have news." It was not a question, that liquid, powerful voice made clear.  
"_Hei, obayun._" came the reply from a kneeling figure, bowing it's head briefly.  
"And?"  
"We belive we have found our _sennin, obayun._"  
"Send Kaemon immediately to make sure. If so, you know what to do."  
"_Hei._"  
A cloaked, shrouded figure seemed to appear from the shadows as the black-clad figures left in silence, intent on their task. "You grow restless, my liege." The voice was baritone, bordering on tenor, a steady, calm voice.  
"The ages make me thus, and the baseness of the world." The other turned, staring out a window, over rain-streaked streets.  
"And not lonliness?" It was quiet, gentle - and more than a little sad.  
"I shall have the truth, old friend, even if I must rip it from dying hearts." Eyes turned, glowing with eldritch fire, seeing more than merely the figure now before it - piercing to the very soul. "I shall have justice."  
"Some would say vengance."  
"What care I?" A low growl seemed to underscore the words. "Justice, vengance - they share the same soul, only hidden beneath this pale vaneer of _civilization._" Laconic amusement, a shared joke. "What of wounds unhealed, horrors running loose in the night? Have you travelled all this way, my friend, to lecture me on justice?"  
"I?" A swept, respectful bow, somehow colored with honest affection. "Justice is long overdue."  
"But you have come to ask a boon of me."  
"A small thing, my friend, yet a boon, aye."  
"Ask then."  
"Let me go as a forward guard. Let me look in the eyes of the one they seek, and see if I see the fire that has almost died in the world. I would like to..." A brief falter, a hesitation. The shadow-figure came over to rest a hand on the slightly shorter one's shoulder.  
"I sometimes forget that I am not alone, old friend." A quiet moment, then, "And more, I forget that the ages do not give ease to those such as we." A soft sigh. "If I can place trust in the world, my friend, it is in you. Go, then. Be sure." The eyes again caught the light, giving form out of shadow. "I must know. not bear another error."  
"And if it is he, my friend"  
"Then I have found what I have sought for far too long. My faithful ones remember their oaths, to him and I alike.  
"I also bear a love for you, old friend. I will not fail. Not heaven nor hell shall deter me." A flicker of pure, unspoiled blue, almost unbelivable in it's purity glowed in the flickering torchlight. "Have we not seen it both?" Greatly daring, the figure touched his liege and friend gently on the arm, a quiet reassurance. Then, with a faint bow, he murmered, "And if it is.....?"  
"Bring him to me. Bring him home."

Cayanne's gaze was not the most welcoming it could have been, and she drew one knee up to her chest as Byron gave a gentle smile and came around the table to sit in the one chair.  
"What'ya want me say? Dat I talk 'bout dis and it get all better?" The young Cajun promptly kicked herself inwardly and turned her mind determinedly from the unwelcome images rising like bloody ghosts from too long a rest.  
"Well, I don't know about what the rest of the oh-so-knowing doctors you've met might say, but I rather doubt that." observed Byron.  
She didn't answer, but felt the faint pressure of Xavier's mind, and attempt to - understand. See what she was feeling.  
With considerable force, she snarled telepathically_, If Cayanne's _Papa _not know what she feel, you certainly not!_  
Xavier almost went reeling, and Byron steadied him reflexively.  
"I know you may not belive this, Cayanne, but we do want to help you." the telepath said, gently.  
Something uncoiled dangerously in her mind - bile-black and bitter, icy and horrible, a distorted image reflected from a shattered mirror.  
_ Steel doors closing, strange lights, confusion and rage and _need_. Blood spurting up in a terrible, final gyser. A howling shriek of rage and pain_....  
Cayanne forced it down. Down where the demons played, laughing, with her sanity.  
"Cayanne!" Xavier's hand on her knee, flickers of images - a tall, broad young man, hungry for something he couldn't name. Disgust and anger and frustration coiling with her_...Non!_  
"I - tell y' 'bout de Surges." she said, voice low and stubbornly steady.  
"Yes." Xavier said, softly, encouragingly.  
"Dey -" she shrugged. "Not jus' loud. Pictures, images wit' no - order to dem." Silver-on-black eyes regarded them both. "Dat not it..." The teenager frowned, struggling to express her inner disquiet in words. "Pieces all torn, feelin' an' blaze, all wrap' t'gether, not make sense..."  
Xavier touched her hand, concerned.  
Flash of images - red light and fear, anger, need, rage. Power. Guns and blood and rage and - power.  
Xavier's dark eyes, another's almost muddied with a lust for - power, real power.  
They hammered against her conciousness, as more uncoiled, swirling into her mind.  
Young boy with brown hair and eyes stitched closed, rage and hate and aching heart.  
Pride as his eyes opened for the first time, owlish and frightened and angry - learning to trust, a gentle, paternal love...  
Awakening of sensuality, red hair and sharing a chocolate malt...  
_Hunger. _Blood dripping down a wall in slow, heavy drops. Rage. Need.  
Distant howls, savage rage and _need..._  
Everything blasting against her mind, tearing at the moors of her sanity, bouncing in all directions, images and feelings...  
"Le' go!" howled the teen-ager, wrenching loose and falling backwards, rolling and coming up, back against the wall. All the hidden places seethed in her mind, like so much fog rising from a hidden moor. "Dis make it worse, you not even _see! _Worse...need t'..." Lance of images...struggling in vain, sharp flashes on a small piece of tempered steel. Tearing agony, violation, voices speaking with detached intrest, hate and hunger and a horrible vortex of that damnable _need...._ "Get 'way from me!"  
Somehow, a battered, small blade - barely the length of a kitchen knife, was in her hand as the nightmare tried to swallow her whole.  
"Cayanne. It's all right." Xavier tried to soothe, but was nearly overwhelmed by images flashing by - images of horror and pain, blurred and wavering, sharp as pain echoed wierldly against his awareness_. I can't let her go like this _. he sent silently to Byron_. The psychic racket upstairs would be...unbearable._  
Byron moved a bit forward, crouched down, radiating a calming field of emotion as he asked carefully, "What would help you, Cayanne? Help me understand. Please."  
Cayanne was suddenly ashamed of the gasps that her breathing had become, the violent tremors that shook her muscles and the dim desire to simply - fall forward. The knife would take care of the rest...  
_Non, damnez-le! Not so easy, non! _She looked into Byron's eyes, sensing his broadcast emotion - and his completely open mind. _What he want? _Pain/tearing/blood...._non!_  
Gasping, aware of the cooling sweat drenching her and the violent tremors, she could swear that something lurked - under. Just under. If she could just _remember..._  
"_Peut la. Nécessité pas. " _she whispered, eyes huge as she fought to force the - memory? - down. It was harder than it should be, as she slid down the wall, staring numbly into the flickering reflections of the old knife.  
"Cayanne, please...talk to me."  
"Nothin' say." A faint, choked sound, what should have been a laugh and fell so horribly short. "Cayanne goin' - goin' _aliéné_." She forced her hand to open, watched as the knife spun over and over, finally hitting the floor with a strangely hollow sound. Then, before the nightmare could engulf her, she forced her head up, defiant, determined. "_Papa...._" she managed.  
"I'll find him...." But Xavier tapped the side of his head as Byron started to rise.  
And exactly sixty-two seconds later, Remy LeBeau charged into the room, sank to his knees, and gathered his shaking daughter into his arms.  
"Q_ue s'est produit ici_?" he demanded, as Cayanne seemed to calm under his touch.  
"I would be quite intrested in the answer to that question myself." The low voice belonged to Stryfe, who was close behind the Cajun, Nathan on his heels. Logan entered less than thirty seconds later, answering Xavier's questioning look with a shrug, his eyes on the teen-ager as he watched with gruff concern.  
"Cayanne, how much of your life do you remember?" asked Byron, softly, and several pairs of eyes turned to look at him.  
Logan and Remy glanced over her head at each other, then back at the stubbornly-not-shaking girl in the shielding arms of her father.  
Cayanne laughed, a wry sound at least, but still dry, still shell-shocked.  
"Oh, dat de fun part, eh?" Her argent-on-ebon eyes came up, determination and a refusal to go down flickering like tiny stars in her eyes.  
"Cayanne remember all of it - except the befores." Eyes closed, expression fierce and wild and unbeaten, she whispered, "Except...before..."  
"Shhh." Remy soothed, smoothing her wild mane. _"Papa _here. It okay."  
Cayanne's voice was fiery and full as she managed to get out, "Dis what they call....a Kodak moment?"  
Humor against madness, fire against ice - Cayanne was holding her ground, refusing to give, stubbornly defiant even when madness fought to claim her.  
The only question that remained was whether she could reach out - or would she shut them out?  
Time would tell.  
Xavier glanced at Byron, and they both knew the truth: time might very well be against them.

"I'm really worried about her, Jean." said Scott, moodily stirring his coffee while watching the soft flickers of red in his wife's hair.  
Colors still facinated him, and he couldn't get enough of watching Jean, her eyes, her skin, her hair - all of her.  
"The Professor is with her." said Jean, stroking his shoulder lightly. "What else is bothering you, Scott?"  
He bit his lip, looking younger suddenly than his years, then whispered, "Do you belive in ghosts, Jean?"  
It was an odd question, coming from Scott, so she settled into the chair across from him and held his left hand between both of her's.  
"I don't know." she replied, honestly. "I guess I've never thought about it."  
"I've had a strange dream the last few nights..." Scott seemed hesitant, and his gaze dropped to the coffee's slowly rising steam.  
"Tell me." Jean coaxed gently, thumbs lightly caressing the strength of his hands.  
Expelling a deep breath, Scott whispered, "It's a strange dream. I see flowers and stone, and then I'm flying....and I see someone who's dead, but I don't know who they are. They try to tell me something important, but I don't understand..."  
Jean's green eyes were puzzled, but concerned.  
"And every night I keep feeling like it's more and more urgent, as if I _have_ to know." His eyes tilted up to her's, unshielded now, blue as the summer sky, and full of a kind of bewilderment that teetered toward fear. "As if...it's something so..._vital...._" He took several breaths, struggling to steady himself, then whispered, "And I'm afraid."  
Jean wrapped her arms around him and whispered, "No matter what, I'm here."  
The clatter of footsteps interrupted their conversation, as the babble of teen-aged voices announced the arrival of many of the older students.

With a swirl of silence, a figure appeared, just outside the Institute's mansion, blue-fire eyes regarding it with intrest.  
A soft blanket of snow covered the ground, and he simply stepped - over - the soft ice that covered the ground.  
He regarded the intercom for a long moment, framing thought and need carefully in his mind, then walked to the fence, through it, as if a ghost passing through a mortal hurdle.  
And came to a halt to wait, with almost inhuman patience, for the door to open.

Finally, Cayanne managed to get to her feet, chin up, refusing to fall, and headed for the door.  
Logan stepped in front of her, and silver-on-black eyes regarded him questioningly.  
"Ya ferget our sparrin' session, darlin'?" he asked, cocking a challenging eyebrow.  
Cayanne grinned wolfishly. "Never forget dat!" she replied, fearless as ever.  
"Logan...." started Remy, but Cayanne stood on tiptoe to kiss her father on the cheek.  
"Cayanne fine_, Papa_." A grin, full of fire and a passion for life that never seemed to die. "'Sides, a few round wit' de Wolverine, dis gonna be fun!" She peered up into his face, then smiled again, an expression full of love and trust and life. "_Aimez-vous._" And she bounced out with typical boundless energy.  
"Why you do dat_, mon ami_?" asked Remy, turning his gaze to Logan, more puzzled than angry.  
"Kid ain't madea glass, Gumbo." said Logan, tucking his cigar back in his shirt. "'Sides, a good scrap'll calm 'er down - an' maybe I can get some answers."  
Remy's fire-and-shadow eyes closed, shoulders slumping slightly, showing for an instant his feeling of having failed his daughter.  
"If ever there was a bond that will stay Cayanne's hand from self-destruction, Remy LeBeau, it is you." Of all people, it was Stryfe - Rafe - who spoke. He regarded the startled glances cast his way with an unreadable expression, then shrugged. "I, also, have an - intrest - in helping her discover what she hides from even herself." With that enigmatic comment, the psionic turned and made his way through the door.  
"Answers have a way of taking time to reveal themselves." said Byron, absently, Legos tumbling through his agile fingers.

Cayanne bounded down the front steps, pausing suddenly. A faint sense of _- something _- brushed against her conciousness, just before a hand clasped over her mouth.  
A strange, if not unpleasent, scent rose to her nostrils even as she reacted to the restraint by biting down on the offending appendage with considerable force. A soft hiss of breath told her she'd connected just before darkness swallowed her.  
The figure moved his unconcious burden gently, checking the pulse in her throat before he moved to stand beneath the ancient tree.

Logan was out the door when he caught a familiar scent, spun to a crouch - and saw the figure holding Cayanne's limp body.  
He growled, low in his throat, light reflecting from the gold in his eyes, fury uncoiling from deep within him.  
"I mean the child no harm." the voice was soft, the incredibly blue eyes gentle. "I ask that you raise no alarm."  
"You got about one second t' drop the kid, then you and I got a serious problem." It was not merely a threat, it was a deadly statement.  
"Of course." An incline of the head, an intense gaze. "However, seeing you...I know that my mission is entirely true." A faint tone of - joy? - threaded through that gentle, soft voice.  
_ This is getting wierder by the moment_. Logan thought to himself, unsheathing his claws_. But he ain't takin' Cayanne nowhere._  
"Logan, please do not resist. I assure you, we mean you no harm." The tall man shifted Cayanne in his arm, expression open and earnest.  
_ What the hell_...?  
Two dark-clad figures had dropped from the wall, moving with disiplined stealth to stand behind the gentle-voiced man.  
One held a cloth wrapped around one hand, and Logan's sensitive nose identified it as an herbal extract - an extremely powerful sedative.  
He growled again, canines glinting briefly in the pale light.  
"Please, Logan_-sama_." Those eyes were kind, respectful. "Do not resist. We mean you no harm."  
"So ya take my - ya take the kid hostage. Real friendly-like." It fell just short of a snarl. The feral flickered in his mind, and he forced it down.  
"Consider it an act of caution." Quietly, calmly. "We are aware of your skill, and we would be fools not to hold you - and it - in the highest respect."  
Glancing at the slightly-crouched figure holding the cloth, then back at the still form of Cayanne, Logan reluctantly sheathed his claws.  
"I ain't gonna forget this." He warned.  
"I will pay my debt to you, Logan, at a later date." It had the tone of an oath.  
Despite the circumstances, the mutant known as Wolverine found himself wondering at it as he straightened, arms at his sides, eyes blazing.  
He knew what the two with the quiet figure were.  
Too well.  
_ Ninja_. And they moved with skill enough that he instantly gauged them as experienced, skilled.  
He memorized their movements, thinking to himself_, Later._  
The cloth was placed with odd gentleness over his nose and mouth, and after a few moments, his vision slid into darkness.  
His last concious thought was of being lifted, carried.  
Then, silence.


	27. Tears for the Beast

******_CAJUN CINNAMON_**  
**Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle  
**  
Chapter XVIX  
**_"Tears for the Beast"  
_**  
****_Smell of crysanthamums and cinnamon, sharp and sweet, light and soothing - slow movement, side-to-side, faint rocking...._  
****The slight movement woke Logan from the drug that had rendered him unconcious, and he opened his eyes slowly, cautiously.  
Shadows danced faintly in the pale light, casting odd shapes on the wooden floor and wall.  
His sharp hearing picked up faint, choked, thrashing movement, garbled words, and laboured breathing.  
Getting quickly to his feet from the _futon-_like affair where he had lain, the mutant found Cayanne, unconcious, breath coming and going in laboured gasps as she struggled through whatever nightmare she was trapped in.  
Her lips were faintly blue, skin a pallor even for the normal fair tone.  
Logan crouched down, fingertips finding the rapid, thready pulse, catching the faintly sweet tang of her breath.  
_Damn it. _he thought, gently propping the girl against his knee and lightly pressing a hand against her neck.  
The skin was clammy, almost cold, sure sign of a sudden, dangerous loss of blood sugar, sliding toward shock.  
_C'mon, darlin', don'tcha dare give up on me. _the thought was almost savage as he shook the thin, faintly athletic shoulder.  
The girl remained limp, unresponsive.  
"Cayanne!" he called her name, voice harsh with concern.  
His senstive nose picked up a familiar scent, and he lifted the Cajun into his arms, moving over to the small stand where a small pot of hot tea sat, two cups sitting companionably next to it.  
Using one hand to pour a measured portion, he set it at her lips and gently but firmly opened her lips with the edge of a finger, poured a small amount into her mouth, and massaged her throat to make her swallow.  
A few tense moments later, Cayanne opened her eyes and her breathing evened out.  
"Wha...Logan? Where..."  
"Yeah, darlin'." he replied, helping her unobtrusively sit up. "Here." The older mutant pressed the faintly steaming cup into her hands and saw her flick a questioning glance up at him, then took an experimental sip and grinned.  
"It pretty good, _mon ami._" she said, not making any effort to move from her position against his side.  
With an answering grin, he poured himself a portion and took a slow, appreciative sip.  
The drink was refreshing, soothing, but not drugged.  
He watched Cayanne out of the corner of his eye as she stretched her legs out comfortably, sipping the hot drink slowly.  
"So where are we, den?" she asked, taking another drink.  
"Far as I can tell we're on a ship, at sea." Logan replied, sniffing the air unobtrusively. "Pretty far out."  
Cayanne looked thoughtful. "Why somebody wanna 'nap us an' take us t' sea?" she asked, settling back against her mentor's solid shoulder.  
"I dunno, darlin' - but I intend on findin' out."

"It is he?" That rich, expressive voice held a faint not only of awed suprise, but of hope.  
"Yes." The slightly shorter figure was staring out into the faintly trickling rain.  
"At last." It came out as a breath. He turned to his companion. "What is it, old friend?"  
"I..." A long pause. "I feel such shame." It came out as an admission. "I am..."  
"Who your sire is is no stain on your noble soul, old friend." A hand rested on the introspective figure's shoulder.  
"I?" The silver-haired figure turned, eyes catching the faint light. "If not for me, our...guest....might have not suffered as he did..."  
"Again, the sins of your sire are not yours to bear."  
"_Giri _might argue that."  
A faint smile, gentle and affectionate. "_Giri _is a truth I revealed, one among many. They needed such, and over time, it permeated the culture I meant it as a guiding light, not a bonfire."  
The other smiled as the room's gentle light revealed his features.  
"Go back to my faithful servants, Hatch." It was a command, but the honest respect within eased it to a command only slightly above a request. "And ensure our..."  
"Guests?"  
A chuckle. "Guests, aye. See to what they may need. I have made arrangements." The other, deeper-voiced speaker commented.  
"You have spoken to the _samurai_, then?"  
Faint embers burned in the green-gold eyes that turned toward him. "_Samurai? _He has no right to the title, for he is in disgrace The Yoshida will pay for it's sins. Their leader so desired to become Lord of the clan, he must pay the price." A fleck of red-fire-golden burned bright in his eyes for a moment. "My price."  
Hatch bowed, and was gone.  
"Now." considered the other, musing aloud. "Now it begins."

Logan considered a break out, but dismissed the idea for several reasons. One was that with a group of experienced _ninja _on board would make it difficult, and he knew Cayanne would be in serious jeopardy.  
The teen-ager was good, damn good, but a group of combat-ready _ninja_ could well take her down.  
No, it was better to get a feel for what they wanted, and why.  
Even though he hated confinement as much as his younger companion, he forced himself to patience.  
Meanwhile, he watched Cayanne stalk back and forth in the limited space, full of frustrated energy.  
Finally, she sighed and sat back down next to him.  
"You not gonna try a breakout 'cause o' me, _oui_?" the Cajun asked.  
Logan regarded her with a bit more respect - not that it had been lacking to begin with, but apparently his younger companion didn't have much concern about her ego in a crisis.  
He was a bit suprised when a flicker of affection rippled through his heart.  
"There're _ninja_ out there, darlin'." he observed, shifting a little to get more comfortable. "At least two, probably more."  
"Ya could take out a small army 'lone, dere, Logan." she returned, with a rakish grin. "But _merci._"  
The older mutant chuckled. "Yer welcome." he replied.  
Suddenly changing topics, the teen-ager suggested, "Since we stuck here fer while, why we not play a game?"  
Logan stared at her. "A game?"  
"_Oui._"  
"What kinda game ya got in mind?" Now he was curious.  
"Hmm." She rested the tip of her first left finger on her chin. "I ask you question, you ask me question."  
"That's a game?"  
"Is if ya hang around with mutants enough." she grinned up at him.  
Logan chuckled despite himself. Despite his normal reluctance to discuss his past - what little he recalled - he was oddly comfortable with his younger companion. "Yer on." he replied.  
"I go first." she said, and considered. "Why you not ever talk 'bout yerself?"  
"Not a lot ta talk about." his voice was carefully unconcerned. "Lost mosta my memories a long time ago." Then he smiled at the teen-ager. "Why don't _you _ever talk about yerself?"  
"Same reason." shrugged the Cajun, which startled him. But she went on to the next question. "You not like yer past much. Why?"  
"Don't much care for bein' a lab rat." He regarded her. "Why don't you trust anyone?"  
Cayanne's silver-on-black eyes widened just a little, but before he could form an apology, she replied, "Too much baggage from past." Then she looked up at him. "Why you trust me?"  
"'Cause I can." he replied, honestly.  
"_Oui._ Ya can." Cayanne replied, quietly. Then she asked, "If could get memories, would ya want dem?"  
It was a strange question, but Logan only shrugged and nodded.  
The young Cajun looked up at him again, considered, then said, "I could try help."  
He started. "I don't know if anyone can. Even Chuck's tried."  
"Xavier not feel wit his tel'pthy. I do. Maybe I can. You want me t' try?"  
Despite himself, Logan was more than a little uncomfortable with the idea. Anyone entering his mind had always been more than a little - confusing. And it had always roused fight-or-flight feelings with him.  
But not now.  
For some odd reason, indifinable and defying any attempt to analyze, he trusted the teen-ager.  
So he breathed out a breath he'd been unaware of holding.  
"Okay, darlin'." he replied, startling himself.  
Cayanne regarded him a long moment, then inched a bit closer, rising up on her knees. She lightly touched his face with her fingertips and...

_White light. Explosion. A roar of rage and pain._  
_ Blood._  
_ Claws._  
_ Logan. _a voice in the madness that his confused memories had always been. The jumble faded, and he was suddenly sitting in a silent room with no features, Cayanne across from him. _Dere lots of wierd metal-feelin' here._  
_ What the hell....?_  
_ I feel it. All in pieces._  
Logan was confused, wary. He was more confused at the fact he'd been crazy enough to let the teen-ager put herself at risk like this. Some of his memories - _almost-_memories - were ugly and fearful, things he'd never let her see if he could avoid it.  
But...  
_Memory implants._ he managed to return, somehow.  
_Ce qui?_  
_ Put there by Weapon X....ta keep me...under control..._  
_ I remove dem?_  
_ What? _Logan was startled.  
_Dey like a broken mirror....all in pieces...but dey in places I see. Not like...like feelin'-image, not like dis. Dey....like taste of metal. Dis one...._  
Flick of memory. Walking down a hall. Sabertooth on one side. Silver Fox on the other. Walking down the hall and talking.  
_Yank._  
Strange almost-pain, just....flash of image.  
Being dragged. Blood-scent and anger, arms pinned behind him. Rage.  
In a strange overlapping image, the second image entered his sense of - realness - as the other faded behind it.  
Logan felt flickers of confusion, almost fear. Fear that one lie could be replaced by another. Fear that every memory might be a lie.  
_You not feel fake, you feel real. _Cayanne's voice was only open and honest.  
_Do it. But...watch yerself, darlin'. _He didn't think about everything that could happen. In honesty, he didn't care about what happened to him - if he remembered. It was what he needed. One of the few things he felt he truly _needed._  
Careful little flickers.  
Hesitation.  
_ hurt ya._  
_ Do it._  
_Yank._  
_TEAR._  
Logan felt/watch/sensed myraids of images, uncountable _instants_, flash by, incomprehensable, too quickly to be watched. A strange blur of his life, faint pain he ignored. Like an infection opened, the pain was almost unendurable. But it was a clean pain, and the image/senses seemed to settle, as if falling into place, overwriting the lies.  
But he could still _see _the lies.  
He just didn't feel them.  
Cayanne backed up a mental pace, and hesitated.  
_Merci.  
_  
And the metal on the wall was underneath his hand, his claws extended.  
Cayanne's expression was concerned as she offered him a cup of now-cold tea.  
He drank it down gratefully.  
"I should thank ya." he said, horsely.  
"_Non. _You let Cayanne in, y' trusted me. _Merci._" she repeated, settling agaisnt the wall.  
"Yeah, darlin'." he wrapped an arm around her, held her against his side. "But you trusted me."  
"_Oui._"  
"Why?"  
She stared at him a long moment, then said softly, "Because you not just de Wolverine. You Logan too."  
Memories aligning themselves, flashes of almost-images, like negatives in pale light.  
It passed quickly, but he felt a mental pressure for a few more minutes, as if the bulk of his memories went back far more than he imagined.  
Metal walls, metal floors. No reflections, only dead sterility.  
The voice of the head of Weapon X, but not confidant as normal. Not arrogant and condesending before inflicting pain.  
Frightened. Serville.  
Cold, familiar voice. Cruel without emotion. Callous and unfeeling and - dead.  
Flicker along unreflecting metal, eyes of dead fire.  
A huge shadow, and beside it, an even larger one. But reptillian-demonic, with the eyes of a corpse.  
Distant silence...the sound of tears, the sound of children crying...  
Logan's eyes snapped open.  
Cayanne was trembling.  
"There's somethin' you don't want me to remember." It wasn't a question.  
_"Oui_." she replied, averting her eyes. She was tense, and he could hear her heart hammering.  
"But ya didn't take it."  
_"Non_."  
"But you could have, darlin'." His voice was soft as he used the tips of his fingers to tilt her chin back, staring down into her alien eyes.  
"Would not steal dat, Logan." she managed to whisper. "Dat would be like - takin' a piece of you."  
Her skin was freezing.  
"Dammit, darlin'..." He grabbed the small pot and poured more into her cup, glaring until she downed it and her shivering eased. Shaking her lightly, he said, "Don'cha do that again."  
Cayanne managed a shrug, but her expression was haunted.  
He sighed and tucked the teen-ager against his side.  
"I owe ya." he whispered.  
_"Non_. You my _sensei, oui_?" she managed a smile. A bit shaky, but a smile.  
"Yeah." He was taking on a serious responsiblity, and he knew it. And he stared at her a long moment.  
She was hiding something.  
Not just from him.  
From herself as well.  
Despite his attempts to remain detached, a fierce sense of protective affection rose in him, and for the first time he realized something.  
She was being honest.  
Not just with words, or actions.  
With her soul.  
Cayanne was a bit puzzled when Logan's half-embrace tightened, but she didn't resist it.  
Despite all her efforts, she slid into sleep.  
Logan removed his fingertips from the pressure point he'd touched, and settled her against him.  
_ Damn stubborn Cajun_. he grumbled to himself.  
He closed his eyes, let the almost-awareness flicker past his conciousness.  
_A young boy, killing a dog - a puppy for imagined slights, an unintended hurt. Tears for the beast._  
That was a secret, something added to hide something else. A truth now unhidden from the lie.  
He didn't know where he and Cayanne were being taken, but he was going to find out.  
It seemed they were both on two journeys - within and without.  
But she had given one thing, without showing it on the surface, he could never repay.  
Tears for the beast.


	28. Interlude Gone Missing, Come Home

INTERLUDE: Gone Missing, Come Home

It is a difficult thing for me to admit to fear. I suppose it comes from years of _being _afraid - there, it is said, no turning back now - and that makes me turn to stare out into the torrential downpour.  
Outside, three of her friends - the angellically beautiful blonde boy, the one so hideous his face remained hidden, and the strange dragon-gargoyle-demon - were talking. I could read in their body movements they were both angry and afraid.  
I turn from the window, and stare at the bookcase.  
Then down at the book in my hand.  
She'd given it to me, with that incomprable, impish grin, and accompanied it with a hug so easy and natural I had felt - blessed.  
A - joke book.  
A gift of laughter, from a person deeply precious to him.  
Once I did not....laugh, save for the maniacal gasp that was allowed me.  
But now...  
How do you explain love?  
How do you explain being afraid for someone's safety when you never have before?  
The answer, I belive, is simple.  
You can't.  
So I get up, tuck the book under an arm, and walk across the room, through the door, and up the stairs.  
Two young students dodge around me, and I can feel their curious stares as I pass by, but I ignore them.  
Finally, I come to the door I'm looking for.  
I did something I never had before.  
I knocked.  
"What?" the voice was mildly groggy, just woken from sleep, and I heard a sharp intake of breath.  
_Nathan? _I shoved the door open and saw my "twin" roll off the bed, legs caught in the sheets, and heard his breath coming quickly, too quickly for normal.  
_Stry....Rafe... _Nathan's mental voice was flat with shock. He held up his arm.  
His arm that had been infected with a techno-virus since he was an infant.  
The first thing I noticed was the soft white color, pale skin showing through the loose-hanging fabric.  
With his metal arm, of course, he had to wear clothes around it.  
I had truly never considered that.  
"What...?" _What? _Verbal and telepathic, both simeltaneously, and we both stared at the appendage.  
"It can't be...it can't be...." Nathan was actually stammering, eyes on his arm as he turned it, clenched his fist.  
"It is."  
"But....how....?"  
"She's not here." I said it without thinking, and I was as startled as Nathan's gaze.  
"What?"  
I reached out a hand, and was mildly suprised when he took it.  
When had the hate stopped?  
When had the rage?  
Pulling him to his feet, I felt the vertigo in his mind as his telekenetic powers began to flood back, I saw Nathan turn as white as his pale arm. The arm that had not seen sun in years.  
We stared at each other.  
"I can't forgive you for Tyler." Nathan said, finally, painfully.  
Sometimes the truth can hurt.  
Sometimes it can set you free.  
"I did not kill Tyler."  
Nathan's eyes widened. "What....?"  
"Tyler died at the hands of Apocolypse." I was telling the truth. The boy had died the moment he met Apocolypse. Died and gone, and I had been too busy with tactical manuvers of my own army when the horrible incident occured.  
Those eyes - twin of mine - stared at me, studied me.  
"You're not lying." It was stunned.  
"No."  
"Why didn't you tell me?!" he almost yelled it.  
I considered. "You didn't ask."  
"I hated you!"  
"I know."  
"For God's sake, Rafe, I wanted to _kill _you!"  
I cocked my head, a bit bemused now. "You called me Rafe."  
He stared at me. "Well...you are, aren't you?"  
"Yes."  
"Why?"  
"Because she let me be."  
He considered, looked down into his own emotions, then back at me. "She's not manipulating us. It's not telepathy, not mind-control, not...not."  
"No."  
"What then?"  
"Love, I belive." It was the truth. I'd never known love, and when she had offered it, first as simple trust, then as friendship, I had been - awed.  
A teen-ager had brought the mighty Stryfe low.  
No.  
She had lifted me up, beyond Stryfe, to being - Rafe.  
"And she...did this?" he asked, looking me straight in the eyes.  
"Yes."  
"How do you know?"  
"I don't know." It was the truth.  
"But you know?"  
"Yes."  
Nathan sat down on the bed, held his head in his hands.  
"I had a child once." Nathan's head snapped up. "From the tanks." I clarified.  
The truth can be painful.  
It can also set you free.  
"What happened to...?"  
"Him."  
"Him?"  
I closed my eyes. "I killed him."  
Nathan's breath caught. "God, Rafe, why!?"  
He was horrified, repulsed.  
"Because after experimenting on him for months, I saw him begging for death. There was no way to reverse what Apocolypse had done. I walked in the medical center. I sat down, took him in my arms - and broke his neck." Nathan looked sick. "It was over for him very quickly."  
I got up, stared out the window.  
"I was fifteen."  
"God, Rafe, I..."  
"He was two. Mutated beyond recognition, DNA shredded into something hideous." Why was I telling him this? I had never spoken of it aloud. "He didn't even have a name." I clenched my fist, then opened it. The boys outside were heading in, I absently noticed. "So I took him outside the Dome, went through a time-gate - and came here."  
"You WHAT?" Nathan's expression was stunned now.  
"I buried him out near the lake. Children play there now, do they not?"  
Nathan's voice was an incomprehensible gargle.  
"Perhaps he rests easier knowing that. In the end, it destroyed any faith I had in Apocolpyse. I stayed because..."  
"Why?"  
I turned to face him.  
"Nathan, where else would I have gone?" It was quiet. Steady.  
It was also agonizingly painful.  
I showed nothing.  
"So you buried your - son - and went back?"  
"Yes."  
Nathan's hand touched my shoulder, and involentarily, I stiffened. I was unaccustomed to being touched, save by a certain brash youngster with incomprehensible faith in me.  
"I'm sorry. I didn't...I didn't know." Was there _kindness _in his eyes? Surely not...  
"The past is, thankfully, the past."  
"Or the future." A grim humor, there.  
"Or the future." I had to agree.  
"We have to find her."  
"Logan is with her."  
"So they've been kidnapped?"  
"So it would seem."  
Nathan considered. "Rafe, would you like some...help?"  
I eyed him uncertainly, then nodded slowly.  
"All right. I have some friends that can help..."  
"Just us."  
"Just us?"  
"Just us." I reiterated.  
"Why?" Nathan was puzzled.  
"Because we both...need her. We both love her." I said it calmly, reasonably, but I had to turn my head away. It would not do to let Nathan see the shine of _tears _in my eyes!  
No, not that.  
Not...yet.  
"We'll find the grave first." Nathan said, softly, suddenly.  
"Follow me."

We walked around the main mansion and back through the small wooded area.  
I was a bit suprised to see a deer staring at us, then we came to the old tree I remembered.  
I remembered because it had smelled - beautiful.  
When I had returned to the Dome, I had looked it up.  
It was a linden tree, extinct in Apocolypse's time.  
Seen as unimportant.  
I stepped around it, and felt Nathan following as I walked slowly around the lake.  
Finally, I came to the place I could never forget.  
A small tree was nearby, from the acorn I had once angrily, bitterly, kicked in.  
I froze, staring at the point my son lay buried.  
Flowers were lay on the ground, a beautiful flare of color and scent.  
The small tree - a young linden tree.  
On it was carved carefully, "_You had no name, so we give you one. Henry Cristopher Dayspring-Summers. Rest in Peace. Love walks with you."_  
It was from her.  
Then I remembered saying once to her, "_My child lays dead and cold beneath a stone. Forgotten. Even I try to forget. There is no justice in the world."_  
She had put her arms around me, and I had - strangely - felt comforted.  
_"Then we make our own justice, _oui? _For those who not had it."_  
I had forgotten that conversation, perhaps out of the vunerabliy - the fear - I had felt.  
I knelt down, and smoothed the dirt just a little, trying not to show emotion.  
Nathan crouched beside me, and we stared at each other.  
Fathers without sons.  
Sons without fathers.  
For a long, long time, we just - _were._  
"Nathan." I spoke quietly, gave him the advantage. "I would like to...know you as other than a foe."  
He stared at me. Then spoke softly. "I want to know the man....that is my twin brother."  
I tensed my shoulders.  
They _would not _shake.  
"You always knew I was your clone." I felt so tired then. I had denied it. I had hated him for it. In the end, I had hated myself for that.  
"Clones, as she was always saying, _are _identical twins."  
I forced myself to my feet.  
"Your family - our...parents...they will never accept me as a son."  
"Give them time, Rafe." Again, his warm hand touched my shoulder.  
"I..." There were no more words then.  
I _would not _cry.  
I _never _wept.  
"Come on. I'll fix us some tea." Nathan's voice was gentle as he helped me up.  
I lifted a flower, and gently placed it on the simple grave.  
"Good-bye, Henry." I whispered, feeling a strange, tight sensation in my throat. "Sleep peaceful...my son."  
Nathan helped me back into the the mansion.  
We sat at the table, sipped tea, and planned a rescue.  
And, may whatever God is out there not strike me down, I - liked it.  
We would find her.  
Cayanne would be safe in Logan's care, I told myself. I belived it.  
But we had to know, had to see her safe.  
Had to _know._  
So we sat.  
Talked.  
In the end...  
We left the table...  
Friends.


	29. Distances

******_CAJUN CINNAMON_**  
**Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle  
**  
Chapter XX / Chapter 20

**_"Distances"  
_**  
Somehow, someway, Cayanne knew she was sleeping.  
Her senses were fuzzy around the edges, confusing.  
All, oddly enough, but her sense of taste.  
Metallic.  
Flat.  
She knew that taste, felt the familiar desire to gag, to clear her mouth out.  
Because what she tasted was _too _familiar, too much a foggy, distorted memory.  
It made her mouth ache where her teeth clenched down, closing off her only sense, nightmare-sense.  
The taste made her want to howl with rage and pain and horror.  
Because the taste in her mouth was blood.  
And she knew, in the dull, horrible way that dream-agony brought, that that blood -  
Was human.

Logan felt the random movements of the young Cajun resting against his side become sharper, more  
violent.  
Desperate.  
Gently, he pulled her back against him, a bit awkwardly, felt her athletic, thin frame shiver,  
murmered, "It's okay, darlin'. Yer safe. It's okay."  
He knew words were fragile things, but he hoped, somewhere in the teen-ager's savaged mind, she  
would understand, take comfort from, his tone and gentle grasp.  
But all he knew at the moment was that he held her, held onto her, hoped that she would rest a  
little longer, find some level of peace.

Scott was the first person to discover the absence of both Logan and Cayanne.  
Knowing something was very wrong - he had a very _very _bad feeling - he had immediately headed  
toward Xavier's office.  
Hank passed him in the corridor and smiled. "The young man Cayanne rescued has recovered enough  
that I belive he can be removed from the life-support tank in a few days." he reported, a look of  
relief in his eyes. Though he had not wanted to think about it, the brilliant scientist had feared  
the boy might not recover. A fear Hank was pleased to find foundless.  
"That's wonderful." Scott replied, feeling a tight knot of worried tension release. He found a grin  
for his friend despite his other concerns.  
"I belive something else is troubling you, Oh Fearless." he said, gentle teasing masking his true and  
compassionate concern.  
Scott sighed. "I could never hide anything from you, Hank." he observed, shaking his head.  
"One of my many charms." The other mutant smiled faintly.  
"Logan and Cayanne are missing." Scott finally said. "I know some people think Logan would just take off, and Cayanne's pretty private, but something just doesn't _feel _right."  
"Have you told the Professor?" asked the blue-furred mutant, concerned now.  
"I'm headed there now."  
"I need to check on the boy, but if you need anything...."  
"Thanks, Hank."  
Hank nodded, then started down the other corridor to the MedLab.

Xavier was startled when the door banged open and Zane came charging through it, violet eyes ablaze with fury - and something deeper.  
Fear.  
"You promised ta keep her safe!" he raged, body rising a few inches off the floor as crackling sparks of electricity flickered along his body. "What happened? Where is she?!"  
"Zane!" Scott, hearing the commotion, came rushing to the rescue. "Calm down!"  
Ororo, who had been coming from the opposite direction, came over to rest a hand on the boy's shoulder. To everyone's shock, the angelic blonde shook her hand off as if burned. "Don't touch me, you damn witch! The next time you touch me, you'll haul back a bloody stump!"  
Lightning crashed, and clouds rolled in, thick and black, and rain skittered against the glass.  
Xavier opened his mouth to reasure the weather mutant, but her wide eyes and quick shake of her head made him turn his attention to the boy, who stood stiff and furious, just inside the door. He glared back, and snarled, "We'll find her. Just keep your pet whore away from me!" And, with a series of curses that made even Scott look twice, the boy stomped off, yelling for Brendan.  
Everyone was shocked, and Ororo had a look of bewilderment on her face that could only be honest.  
The hatred that roiled off Zane was touched by fear, and by pain, but the loathing he felt for Ororo  
Munroe was beyond anything Xavier had ever sensed.

Cayanne woke with a gulped back gasp, sitting up so fast she almost banged her head into Logan's chin.  
Releasing her breath in a forced-calm burst, she glanced up at him a moment, smiled and shrugged, and  
would have left it at that - except for the empathy in the man's eyes.  
Not sympathy.  
_Empathy._  
They regarded each other a moment longer, as a knock sounded on the door to the cabin.

Zane leaned against the door, breathing in and out in slow bursts. He was counting, like Cayanne had  
taught him, all those years ago. Centuries, it felt like.  
_ One_. Breathe in, hold it just a second. Thunder crashed and he closed his eyes tighter.  
_ Two_. Breathe out, slowly now_....Should've killed that damn woman, should've could've...._  
BANG. The lightning shook the mansion into an almost-tremble, and Zane gulped in air.  
_ Three_. Breathe in...  
"Z-Zane?" Liam's voice, soft and gentle, shy as always. Always as if he expected a blow to fall, a curse to be snarled, always slightly nervous, always slightly _afraid_.  
"Li, sorry, just can't quite...." He took a shuddering breath. "You were right. She ain't here."  
The gauze-wrapped hand came up slowly, rested against his chest as Zane fought the rage down.  
It was one thing to see the woman he hated more than anyone else in the world in a classroom, yammering something about the price of coal in Bolivia or something, but to be in a room and her have the _gall to touch _him, that was something else!  
Reaching out, he gathered the smaller boy to his chest, feeling the tremors there.  
_ Damn_, he swore at himself_. Li must've felt that, all of that. Damn damn damn..._  
"A-are y-you...o-okay?" Liam's arms wrapped around Zane's athletic frame, a shield of reassurance,  
comfort.  
"Yeah." Not true completely, but at least he wasn't reduced to counting like a three-year-old.  
Liam tipped his head back, regarding Zane with concerned eyes.  
"Don't worry, we gotta figure out what to do next." Zane said, pushing gently off the wall and wrapping his left arm around Liam's almost-thin frame.  
"W-we sh-should t-tell the o-others." Somehow, every statement Liam made came out partly a question.  
"Yeah." Zane agreed, falling in step with his companion. "But not that we've been backstabbed. Again."  
"Th-they d-d-did not kn-know." Liam's voice shook, Zane subtley held him closer.  
"Yeah, but they made a promise when we first got here, and damn well I don't trust them in a mile of the Prodigals. Until we know what happened and why, they're safer with the LeBeaus."  
Liam nodded solumnly, though the aura of sadness around him deepened. "Th-they w-will b-be s-safe." he whispered.  
"Don't worry, Li." Zane said, voice gentled by his feelings for the smaller boy. "We Hidden stick  
together. Now an' ferever." His eyes gleamed with danger, lightning-flickers appearing in his incredibly blue, vivid eyes. "If the X-Men try anything, they're meat."  
And even gentle Liam leaned a bit closer in subtle agreement.  
_ Damn you, storm-witch! Damn you_**_, damn _**_you!_


	30. Transcendence

**_CAJUN CINNAMON_**  
**Book One of the Annwn Ryu Cycle  
**  
Chapter XXI / Chapter 21

**_"Transcendence"  
_**  
"I am most displeased." the voice was soft and calm, even and reasonable - yet utterly frightening on some basic, fundamental level.  
"Forgive us, _obayun_." Clad in black from head to toe, black of hair and eye, the second figure bowed deeply from a kneeling position.  
The first figure did not turn, simply uttered a faint sigh. Control, even for him, came at a price.  
"What is the status of the vessel?"  
"It will reach port in an hour_, obayun_."  
"See to it that it is well hidden. And to the rest. Go."  
With another kneel-bow, the second man backed from the room, never rising from his knees.  
His master had been tolerant, and he would accomplish his mission, or die in the trying.

Logan sat with his back to the wall, alert, as he felt the small vessel moving slightly with the tides. His enhanced senses detected voices, speaking in Japanese. There was a slight increase in heat to the outboard engine. Someone had forgotten to deliver their dirty laundry to the shipboard cleaners _again_. All comments that pointed toward a common awareness, occurring only on a mission.  
He frowned to himself, concentrating his efforts on being prepared for anything.  
Meanwhile, Cayanne was sitting next to him, watching the door with an intent expression on her mobile face.  
Unobtrusively, the older mutant studied the younger. For reasons even he was unsure of, he was able to extend an emotion very  
difficult for him - trust.  
Years of living largely on his own, with only wary contact with the world around him, had helped make the mutant known as Wolverine an extremely skilled observer. He was always aware of his surroundings - his turbulent and often violent past had  
hammered home the lesson to never let down his guard.  
Trusting in others was a rare occurrence for him. He had few friends, fewer close friends. Even his contacts among the X-Men,  
mutants like himself, did little to ease his wary alertness.  
Again, Logan glanced at the Cajun teen-ager next to him.  
She was a newcomer to his small circle of friends, and by all his experience, would bear careful watching.  
But somehow, the younger mutant had broken the mold, challenged his rules of survival, which on many levels puzzled him.  
Always before, Logan had allowed himself to trust in a friendship only after time, often considerable time.  
And usually, after sharing combat experiences, staying on the same side, living in a similar world.  
So why, and how, had he come to trust her?

Zane and the others were alone in an attic room, aware of the downpour outside, the distant booms of thunder and rattles of the windows did little to soften the solemn mood.  
"Cayanne's missing." Zane said, finally, breaking the somewhat ominous silence. There was a slight stir, then he plunged on,  
lightning momentarily setting his stunning blue eyes aflame with violet and gold.  
"Was it...them?" It was Fabian, running a hand through his reddish-blonde hair, that spoke, from where he sat near the taller Graham. He was disturbed by the news - they all were.  
"If it was, they would have come after us all." Brendan answered, frowning.  
"Yeah." agreed Zane, glancing over at Liam, who was silent and still.  
"We have to go look for her! We just found her again..." Brendan added, expression part angry, part worried.  
"We do not have a good starting place." Liam's soft, shy tones were concerned, even a little fearful.  
"Yeah, all we know is somebody snatched her from the grounds." growled Zane, angrily. "So much for Xavier's word!"  
"He wasn't part of it." Liam was certain, and none among the young mutants doubted him. "He didn't feel like he was lying." He rested a hand on the shoulder of the tense, volatile Zane, who looked over at him, then closed his eyes.  
"We can't just sit here and do nothing!" growled the stunningly attractive older boy. "We have to think of something, somehow. We can't give up."  
There was a brief, tense silence.  
"We should keep an eye on the X-Men." said Fabian, after a moment.  
"Yeah, if anything gets picked up, they'd do something." agreed Brendan, sitting up a bit straighter.  
"But how can we be sure they are not responding to another situation entirely?" asked the ever-rational Graham, leaning a little forward. "We are not part of their planning or actions."  
_"We aaare nnnott paaart of thiiier consiiideraaation_." the distinctive tones came from the ceiling where the dragon-gargoyle-demon member of their group, Justin, hug upside-down as if a very large bat_. "Theyy wiiill not consssullt usss."_  
Zane scowled, then grinned, somewhat wolfishly. "Then we watch them close, especially Summers. He's Xavier's errand boy, so the moment anything is up, he'll jump. We'll be there, watching."  
"Yeah!" agreed Brendan, with a smile.  
"Like always, we'll stay hidden in plain sight." Zane grinned at the groans at his intentional pun.  
Outside, thunder boomed, and lightning lit the roiling sky.

The silence of the laboratory was almost absolute, save for the burbling of liquids in their beakers or the occasional pop of electricity. It was an atmosphere most any scientist would appreciate, the steady calm of reasoned and ordered thought.  
But to the wheelchair-bound man in the midst of the apparatus, it was almost irritating.  
He glanced toward the glass windows, high up on the wall, and reluctantly admitted to himself it was likely that the arrangement he had forged was now out of his control.  
His staff almost fell over one another to avoid being assigned to the project they had struggled with, fought to maintain, past grasping bureaucrats who just wanted to maintain the status quo to close-minded military midgets who feared change more than bullets.  
Every day, every _single _day, that they did not recover their powerful and dangerous ally's property, someone was seriously injured at best.  
At worst, they suffered a variety of hideous deaths, almost as if their enigmatic ally was simply toying with them, using freakishly dangerous forms of destruction on human bodies.  
He looked down at the beaker in his hand and resisted the impulse to smash it into the table in a fit of pique.  
How had things gotten so completely out of his control?  
Once, he had been respected. Certainly, he had been feared. That was a necessity.  
But he had to face the facts.  
Weapon X had been a failure, a miserably uncontrollable failure, and those damnable, cowardly louts had abandoned him!  
With a careful movement of his left hand, he set the beaker down and forced his features to unreadable calm.  
But he had new allies now, powerful ones, who could at least glimpse his vision. Those that couldn't were among the first he sacrificed to the burning wrath of his most dangerous ally of all.  
_ After the escape of Weapon X - that _animal - _it almost cost me everything. The facility is a complete loss. All the research data - all those years of work_! The wheelchair-bound man's thin lips curled in a faint snarl before he could control them_. They called me a failure, stopped all my research, regulated me to second-class experiments a first-year intern could accomplish! The fools_! Behind his expressionless mask, he raged at the injustice of it, the sheer stupidity_. But they underestimated my genius, my resolve. Now, all I need is to recover his precious property, and I will have my revenge._  
His rage calmer now, the wheelchair turned and he regarded the figure on the table with a steady gaze.  
Thin, agonized sounds, little more than mewlings, escaped the tortured flesh despite the gag.  
With a thoughtful pause, he lifted the scalpel from the metal tray on the sterile tray and regarded it momentarily. After years of service, years of brilliant successes, he had eschewed all other names but his professional title. It seemed fitting, even reasonable, that his associates call him by his title alone - what right had they to even know the name he had been given at his birth? Yes, more rational this way. Clearer. Cleaner.  
As blood spattered and the mewlings became sharp, thin sounds, he congratulated himself on an excellent choice.  
Hidden by the scalpel and drill, the Professor smiled.

"I don' know 'bout you_, mon ami_, but I am _bored_." Cayanne said suddenly, frowning at the doorway. "What dey plan t' do, bore us t' death?"  
Logan smothered a smile, shrugged stoically. "Not much to do in a ship hold, darlin'." he said, though very privately he was thinking much the same.  
The black-on-black eyes, marked with a flare of silver at the center, brightened. Rummaging in her battered old trenchcoat, she finally pulled out a very well-used pack of playing cards and held them up triumphantly. "Poker?" she suggested, all innocence.  
Her companion grinned at her despite himself, and cocked an eyebrow. "If you're anything like your pa, this could be interesting." he said, deadpan, and the girl laughed.  
"Worse." she warned, a sparkle of mischief in her eyes.

Hatch was abundantly aware of how some coveted his position, yet in honesty, did not truly understand the reasoning of that want.  
He was the confidant, companion, and loyal observer of his liege lord.  
Even a friend.  
Yet, this frantic _want_, it's logic eluded him. To gain one's desire, one must first seek the truth of it. Not the image of success, but the substance of it should be a guide, not a master.  
Hatch's age allowed him some glimpses into the minds of men, long years of experience sometimes brought the edge of exasperation, yet he never fully gave into it.  
The more men succumbed to _want_, the greater misery that inevitably followed.  
He watched, inscrutable, as men hurried about, seeking to speed the vessel to it's final destination and allowing him some time to consider.  
Despite being precariously close to _want_, Hatch did want to see his master's goal achieved.  
There was so much upheaval, so much confusion, and yes - inevitably - desire. Greed_. Want._  
He was fortunate, in that he had long since ceased to pursue wealth, or even passion, for it's own sake.  
Instead, he focused himself on his own goals, while assisting his master - yes, his friend - in his.  
They had waited a very, very long time to locate their precious cargo, though the girl-child was an unexpected addition.  
He glanced up, senses detecting the compressed signs of human life ahead.  
Harbor, landfall, then a slow and careful process would begin, one that would bring about changes the likes of which those around him only glimpsed.  
Yet that effort had lifted them from _want _by giving them instead a goal that had spanned millennium, and set them on the road toward wisdom.  
As he motioned dark-clad figure forward and nodded silently toward the hold, he had high hopes.  
Yet his concerns remained.  
His master, his friend, had placed all his dreams into this for so long, he had come to accept the possibility of rejection, of refusal, of loss. Had he not lost so much already?  
Though he had studied all he could find on their reluctant passenger, there were no guarantees.  
There was much to be said for allying one's self with freedom, passion was, after all, the force that allowed humanity to transcend destiny, to change their world and their future.  
Almost unwillingly, he glanced over at the hold, saw his messenger descending, and asked a question he had not asked in centuries, one that filled him with an almost-forgotten excitement and curiosity, a passion even he was not immune to.  
What destiny will he choose?  
He looked forward to seeing the answer unfold.


End file.
